The Blood & The Bones

I got high on you for a little while..

And more than your sex, your face, your voice.. the real drug was found in your words

It’s the writers who always get me. But not just any writer. The ones with words formed from trauma. The ones who used calloused hands to pen their tragedies. The hands that have held dangerous weapons and yet the greatest ever gripped by his fingers was the one he used to write with. The man who found his way through hell and wants to purge his guts onto the page not just for himself not for the lost man who needs a roadmap.

You look at him and just see a man. Oh want to see the sentences written all over him so that I may read and understand him