Poetry is the open wound
From which the **** of our minds seeps
Infecting the world with it's vitriol
Spreading it's disgusting disease
A scab that never heals, as we pick
And pick away at an itch, letting the injury
Ooze and weep, always there to remind us
We can never resist perverse temptation
And rid us of the addiction that will always
Cause us pain, so open your minds
Let them breathe and pen.