If it wasn't for the words that build up my poetry
My mouth
I'd cut it off with my mothers kitchen knife
Hang it upon the wall like a master piece of art
Blood has never harmed anybody
My eyes picked out with toothpicks
An old man in a suit will eat them like olives in a glass
My hands
I honor them to lead the pen to the finish line
Those I will keep
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
If it wasn't for the words that build up my poetry
My mouth
I'd cut it off with my mothers kitchen knife
Hang it upon the wall like a master piece of art
Blood has never harmed anybody
My eyes picked out with toothpicks
An old man in a suit will eat them like olives in a glass
My hands
I honor them to lead the pen to the finish line
Those I will keep
