Who

who can it be the one I am searching for, in wells deep with inky introspection in letters written to the beloved the well of drowning, of falling ever deeper in never ending summersaults of tears the pen is so heavy dipped in my own blood, my own sweat never quite seeing or capturing the gory glory the putrid rotten written story of that soul my lungs fill with blackness they're not here the mirror only laughs and green grimaces reflected they're not here wake up wake up