Inky black, I’m sucked back
down to her darkest depths
Like an octopus her story wraps me in its tentacles
A stranglehold on stories told
and the ink she has spread across the page I can’t see through
I think I’m drowning…it’s sticky black and I should come up for air
even though my mouth is open to suck grace in -nothing fills my lungs
even though my eyes are open there is nothing – nothing but darkness
inky blackness the colour of the story told with the pain of being buried alive
© Kait King, 2015
The writer's blogk 