PEN TO PAPER
Poetry excerpt from Demonic Lulladies.
© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton
Bent over the notebook in my lap,
Thoughts become words, sticking like sap.
In my left hand I clutch a pen,
Its black ink staining like sin.
Once perfect white now saturated with filth,
Filling the papers pores with poison, showing no guilt.
WAIT! Delete that, scribble it out,
Scratching noises accompany my ink and doubt,
Creating on the paper a black hole,
Even as the paper crinkles and folds.
Darker and deeper the void becomes,
To my black ink blade the paper succumbs.
I stop, satisfied that the words are gone,
The ink swallowed them like some evil spawn,
But now the paper lays crippled and torn,
The black stain spot now thin and worn.
The corners curl up, black ink is smeared,
Like a wicked beast, it stares back and sneers.
I glare at this paper, once flawless and pure,
Now ugly and scarred, my rage it’s forced to endure.
This paper was beautiful, perfect in every way,
Then me and my pen came and ruined the day.
Without me the white wouldn’t have known pain,
Never would it have been exposed to the profane.
I begin wondering why this should be?
Why everything I touch becomes broken and dirty?
My pen and I are a plague, a disease,
Spreading our illness to those foolish enough to read.
Putting pen to paper is a habit I should drop,
But my destructive nature won’t allow me to stop.