A twist,
A burn,
Drown, you say?
Shall I spray these letters on the page for you to read?
May I display the writhing writes that within I keep?
I slash the pen against the inside of my skull,
To write my stories...
We call this,
a poem.
but does that make me,
the poet?
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 12:40 PM UTC
A twist,
A burn,
Drown, you say?
Shall I spray these letters on the page for you to read?
May I display the writhing writes that within I keep?
I slash the pen against the inside of my skull,
To write my stories...
We call this,
a poem.
but does that make me,
the poet?