First draft written on 9/2/17
The Companion's Promise
It's a grim path out there, a windowless wood
pockmarked with black-top and the emotions
tend to drain like ocean tides and swell
like tornadoes all while showing up to work
on time and cleaning another dish
and lava cracks the earth and Satan
offers me another kingdom. The fluffy
fortress of my bed envelopes me,
a chance to rewrite my coming story
my companion disfigured his body
on inflammation overload, takes my hand
his pockmarked, bloodied hand and gently
tugs me to my feet to my path;
he is not writing a tragedy.
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