It bleeds…..

This pen.
These thoughts.
That image,
bleeding onto the page.
What body has formed here…
that this book entombs with delight?

I write in the mornings before the sun rises, when the dark is at its most quiet. I enjoy the view of the woods from my long deck, surrounded by the crawling things. This is where inspiration comes. I drink my coffee and place myself in the horror of what I write, as if I am the character, trapped in a dire forest-bound predicament.

This is a creature feature, and the trees may witness what the heavens cannot.