Aug 2016
They come to me, the words,
some on crutches, but happy like children,
they (the words) rub on my lowest ego like a wagging puppy,
no mercy, I feed them by hand to my vicious poetry.
some on crutches, but happy like children,
they (the words) rub on my lowest ego like a wagging puppy,
no mercy, I feed them by hand to my vicious poetry.
