Ink drips from my fingers while I sleep
Dropping onto a lake of words
That flows down a river
Of Consonants and Vowels
To pool onto my notepad.
Words bloom into bloody flowers
That grow in a man’s abandoned ribcage
And are trampled underfoot
By wolves that feast upon children’s nightmares
And cuddle with the victims of their prey.
In the morning it dries
And I am left
With a blank page.