Madness, Part II

Holed up in a dark pit, I found it hard to climb back up again.

There was no Light. No end in sight.

For a time I thought that maybe I was going insane because I’d stopped writing, because there was nothing to write about. Brain. Dead.

Like a deserter, retreating before the order,

I reentered that forgotten world where my characters once breathed, made flesh through ink,

and where ships don’t sink and no one cries.

So I began to write prose, broken poetry,

if only to escape from this hell for five sentences, or five stanzas.

I picked up a paintbrush and let it fly. It became a thread, a rope of hope, painted into existence, or perhaps the other way round. It didn’t matter.

I followed it, and at the end, I met You.

Originally published on https://wp.me/p1uzpB-8p