Bleak, black ink
Diluted with the dull white
Of readings between the lines,
Makes a drizzle-gray picture.
I find I want no part of your work,
If I gaze from under your bleary lids for too long...
Don’t live the template –
Fluid hopelessness sets just like concrete.
I wish you’d tear herself away before it dries –
There is joy left out here.
Author notes
This is my reaction to Margaret Atwood's Death by Landscape. Seeing through the worldview presented in this story was extremely depressing - I wanted to fix things somehow. Make everything better. In the end I got this.
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