The floorboards are cold against the diary of my lament
feeling the weight of the paper creak, a requiem for my
epitaph, louder than the scent in the ink pot’s well
pooling in corners where my shadow dwells in syllables
that drag its heels, echoing, returning with an alien
cold…”Come to me, my melancholy baby.”
Rated for Everyone
Melancholy Baby
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Powerfully penned, Adagio. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank-you, Damian.