Phone is Dead, No charger. But still a spark flows through these veins.
Time to go
Off The Map.
Pen has melded into flesh, ink pouring into blood.
As my fingers scrawl the page, life is borne again.
Reality via ballpoint.
A battle begins, between the literature gods and my mind, my hand the mediary.
The resulting casualty, my lucidity.
My fractured essence, caught and recorded.
This moment in time forever etched
a heavy lead weight affixed to a singular point that will be rehashed and renewed
vicariously felt for the ages.
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