Poet

On my most open page

I have been hiding.

Beneath the folds

of the library's master -

I sheltered there...

lapped the ink,

dried the page.

How I loved it.

Not a soul

hath tasted the nature

of my organic words -

Though,

they breathe for you.

At sanity's end,
I closed the book!

&, oh,

how it did defeat me to...

I lain,
a misery.

Until paper found my palm again...

Heaven, Haels! My ill-forgotten friend.

I was mistaken.

It is this pen

I live in.

Of A Library

I dreamt of you

once, today.

Crawled through the catacombs of your brain.

I drank the liquid

smelled the stain,

read through the journals

that wrote your name.

The ground, it shivered

across my skin

through the haunting white, covet,

I plummeted in.

Became something I have never been;

introducing the monstrous magnificence.

An exit, so binding,

ran from me.

Holding jealous, was the key,

unlocking worlds never seen.

I sought the moon, 

just past this door

a smile 

she held for me in lore...

Fell beneath 

the cement floor

searching an escape, gasping for; 

breaths be short.

You took the time to come, what for?

Was it worth it? 

Tell me now.

Oh, but your breaths have stopped, so how?

Hands so curious for this skull.

Speak to them, tell it no!

Oh, you can not?

Well what a pity

I suppose I will take your story home with me.

Trapping the cover of your story within me...