There’s a place under my desk where my dog sits at my feet
in the cool of the morning before the heat sets in
before the lights go out and the fear takes hold
beneath my keyboard — lit pink in her favourite colour
beneath my chair and the half-smoked pack of cheap cigarettes
It’s a place that exists only before the day aggravates the damage
before the self-medication and impairment that comes
before the descent into degenerate disintegration
There’s a small amplifier perched brooding and boxy beside me
a pair of guitars waiting for the inspiration to come
when songs form and lyrics weep in visions of the hell
that resides ever in my heart and my mind
blood splattered words and minor chords all
riven through with the weight of tortured heart
There’s a stone in my stomach and a rock on my chest
tattered breath and bloodshot eyes forcing mangled words
from my tormented brain in great gasps of existential abhorrence
my dog sits, my keyboard glows, my guitars wait
and the cold sweat takes me deeper

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