As Desired

To make stories we transform words into worlds. Twisting constanents into continents. Thoughts are replaced by actions, as scabs heal and create scars; a mark of experience in the block of life we carve. Earth doesn’t care for the dead thats buried here. No, it’s the people that only do. For every lie is not barren of truth, merely constructed of half truths screaming from weak minds, and creatures sharp of tooth. Words rushed forth from your mouth like fog rising from a lake. Expressions of guilt as tired tongue cramps and pupils dilate. Life’s cycle now complete, a soul departs the dead. Lost in transition from mind, to hand, to pen. The warm familiar pulse dulls, the heart begins to retire. Yet, the ink bleeds through the page just as desired.