Scratch Online

with the taint of a cigarette
still on my tongue,
I behold my cathedral
and long to run
down the aisles of pews—
taller than myself—
where words of power
rest on each shelf.

searching with fervor
for my personal muse,
whose story will heal
the great garish bruise
that covers my heart
and invades my mind.
but the ink is the cure;
that’s what I must find.

crawled betwixt the pages
of a Faerie tale,
longing to be lost
and knowing I should fail.
this structure offers sanctuary
but only for a short while;
my Gods reside in books
worshiped by the bibliophile.