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Rwarren5433
Poems1
Words62
My fingers… shake, They quiver in fear like rats when the cat comes about, They dance like ballerinas across the keys of the typewriter, Heels bleeding and muscles ablaze, My mind races with ideas that will not come out, They stick like burs on the edges of the nerves in my hands, The crystallised artistry begins to ache, As if my joints are rotting with colour, Day by day, they waltz key to key, Slipping gracefully across as they create, And yet at the same time, they destroy themselves, Chipped nails, stinging slivers, bleeding cuticles, and joints that feel like they may crumble to dust at a moment's notice, Yet they continue to dance with tempered focus, And they write, and scribble, and type, and scrawl, Until one day, One day, they fall.
0
Oct 10, 2025
Oct 10, 2025 at 7:54 AM UTC
Rwarren5433
Scrawl
My fingers… shake, They quiver in fear like rats when the cat comes about, They dance like ballerinas across the keys of the typewriter, Heels bleeding and muscles ablaze, My mind races with ideas that will not come out, They stick like burs on the edges of the nerves in my hands, The crystallised artistry begins to ache, As if my joints are rotting with colour, Day by day, they waltz key to key, Slipping gracefully across as they create, And yet at the same time, they destroy themselves, Chipped nails, stinging slivers, bleeding cuticles, and joints that feel like they may crumble to dust at a moment's notice, Yet they continue to dance with tempered focus, And they write, and scribble, and type, and scrawl, Until one day, One day, they fall.
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