Words rolled off his tongue like dice
"You're different," he whispered.
"You're loaded," she laughed.
Write and maybe you'll be heard
After watching others create
and piece together works of art
she sadly reveals she cannot do the same.
She declares “i have ideas. I just can’t
turn them into words like others can.”
She has no idea that
She is the voice
behind them all.
a poem on two feet.
I feel the alcohol creeping in
jumping through my veins
one by one.
It always starts this way
a slow burning with the first sip
a measly spark,
that triggers another
until my vision is blurred by smoke
and I’m a full raging fire
warming the coldness inside me.
— The End —