Nomad Writer

I’ve ventured too deep

Within myself

Without hope of return

From chambers better left

Unopened

Trapped in purgatory

Where the sillage of rot

Traipses the dark stillness

As heavy clouds

Mournful shadows wafting

Above bare bones and decay

Slain ideas

Gutted thoughts

And strangled memories

Spread before me

In senseless carnage

Provoking a cry for justice

To crucify the vile intruder

But innocence bleeds from my fingers

Guilty stains marking me

As the murderer

Of my own creativity