Here I sit


With heart thudding

4 weeks since

The anonymous doctor

Doped my


To buggery

No more do I write of demons

They’re all asleep

With the dragons

Hiding my treasures

On golden piles

Of sparkling


Guarded by a fire

Of medicaments

Burning cold within my soul

Stifling the writing

And yet

I sit again

Waiting to be doped

Even more

A masochistic urge

To cover myself

My companions

My characters of creation

My free roaming thought pals

To cover all

To choke all

To stomp all over

My writer self

To smother

In nothing


Copyright August 2013


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