Lo and behold, the after-effects

Of a hiatus from my throne

The art form, my chalice of ink

My crown, runs through my veins,

Rejuvenates, eradicates, that itching,

Scratching, searching for that next fix

Departing my zone, of sanity

Leaves me empty, Brain waves 

Resuscitated in my cockpit

Grey matter geared towards

The next objective.


The hard line, I divide, my lovers and haters,

Right in the middle, like Moses

I saunter between them

Yearning for the promised land

Everyday I fight, to quell my inner rage

My inner pain, concoctions courtesy

Of being a self critic

Existing in and outside myself,

Self-imposed anesthesia

Brewed from a whiff of these lines,

Of the many dimensions my character exhibits

This may be my favorite one. 

– Original-Dante ©2017

Photograph by: sandrawiklander



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