The studio

The demon's hound's rape and paw
black mud drag at the feet
and all unkempt, blown by the storm
to not admit defeat

As step by step the winding stair
compound a wetted seed
Your voices, stink like dirty underwear
the yellowed crutch displeased

Four sides they look at me so blank
no teacher, references pages ripped
rocking me, as I sink
my mind dry ink, it dripped

The paper walls, turned to trees
 garret trapped within ones self
critique, gesundheit; the unexpected sneeze
ever inwardly to delve