there lives a creature in between the walls of my skull, in the hollow of a cage made of bird bones.
curled up on a cobwebbed shelf sewn into the shadows behind my brain.
the shelf for beautiful forgotten things; where dust particles cling to the worn cherry wood,
and a black widow or two scurry across their homemade bride veils.
the creature is only a skeleton; it's weak diaphragm an unwelcome reminder.
the brittle bones nothing but whisper-thin strokes of an ingenious charcoal pencil.
it often feeds on the meager creativity storage that hangs on a hook overlooking the inside of the cage.
but when that runs out, which it so frequently does, "feed me...," the poor beast murmurs, it's voice like fingernails on a chalkboard.
and when there is no response, the delicate little thing digs it's claws into the thick spines of the long forgotten leather-bound volumes filled with wrinkled, wordless parchment that lay in stacks beside it.
or, it unfurls it's wings of thick black smoke, ivory rose petals, and frail insubstantial feathers, beating them rapidly, causing the dust dregs to swing in motes that irritate my brain, reminding me.
this dear neglected darling has been on my mind for quite some time.
it's time to write.
let me feed you.