some days
there are no words
to explain
the constant state
of panic
that colors the world
a hellspike
driven deeply
into the sternum
keeps the light
of anything resembling joy
at bay
some days
there are no words
to explain
the constant state
of panic
that colors the world
a hellspike
driven deeply
into the sternum
keeps the light
of anything resembling joy
at bay
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
I recall only very rarely feeling so intimately connected with a creator and their creation as I do in this moment. I particularly appreciate the desperation as rendered so vividly in brevity of the piece. It has something of the dramatic finality of the fall of the headsman’s axe about it. Or more properly, the driving home of a hellspike.
Gorgeously ghastly work, Mike Ennenbach.
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I love when a comment is more poetic than the piece. This is why you are one of my all time favorites.
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And I yet faithfully devoted to you as I may be, my friend.
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