It began

With a pen

In my hand

Stabbed

In the center of chaos

To write out the light

That lives within me

That sought to break

The darkness

Eating me alive...

For hours I would sit

Dreaming, drawing

Writing, believing

My arm in a sling

One eye swollen shut...

Whispering

There would be a way out

There must be

A way out...

Focused

On the paper

On the floor

That held me

Heavy as a stone

In the corner

Of that tiny room

Floating on a river

Of Imagination...

Isolated

On my knees

Seeded in the soil

With girls

Younger than I

Holding their backs

Arching puffed bellies

Stuffed full with their

Infected children...

Celestial incest...

Terrestrial insects...

We slept in boxes

That doubled as coffins

Because

Some were smart enough

To die...

But not I

Stubborn little cyclops...

I

Was destined

To fight......