The stars looked beautiful outside;
more beautiful than all deemed fit times
I'd look through my telescope
to perceive a serenity millions of years above.
So I stumbled away from his ribside
and trod through a half lit corridor-
thirsting over an obsession I have grown to worship.
In the dark,
my hands rummaged through a fraction of debris
that lied about this trashed home
seeking a piece of paper
onto which my piece would find peace.
A pen was somewhere on a wooden stool,
diddling through the emptiness of belonging to him
probably dancing the night off alongside currents
that found their way through broken glass windows
he had struck while drunk.
So, I began writing
until the night's was all told-
with pen on paper.
_Day challenge 81_
_Theme: Pen and Paper_