maybe i should not have
but i drowned
all the fairies
in a glass of beer
with a drip of
soap
drunken little bastards
they never returned
the pen
they stole
but now i find myself
crossing my fingers
& waiting
for the little voices
to whisper
again
telling me
what to write
guiding
my pen
in stories
they pull
from somewhere
deep
dark
inside me
as i watch
& wonder
“where the fuck
did they find
that?”