So here’s another old, “dark” poem. It was written to inspire a story and then I never wrote the story!

The silence had enveloped her

In its warm black anonymity

She was safe.

No rasping voice

No sound

Penetrated it

A gag order

On insanity.

A restraining order on life.

She buried deeper into it

A mole, escaping the light.

Nothing was going to persuade her

To turn back

She was inside

Black.

So velvet, so soft.

An immobile stupor from which

She need never say anything

Need never open her eyes

Need never

Explain herself

Or try to understand

Red rage

Red, sticky red

Horrible red

That covered the knife.