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The-empty-cupboardPoems
I must write a poem symphony of synonyms hurricane of hyperboles mobocracy of metaphors floodgates in my fingers obstruct my insanity. No monsoon of carefully selected adjectives, nouns, verbs storming blank parchment running ink stores dry. Instead I simply gawk at the word-worthy world. Write poems on the seams of my skin and under my eyelids. Engrave the secrets of my crux in the stem of my brain. Cut out my own tongue. Useless in formation of my phrases, they are inconceivable to modern man. You'll never see my madness untill you examine my insides cut me open, unravel the mystery in my cold blood, Find me dead and read my lips. they will be stuck in a morbid smile
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Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
Cut Out My Tongue
I must write a poem symphony of synonyms hurricane of hyperboles mobocracy of metaphors floodgates in my fingers obstruct my insanity. No monsoon of carefully selected adjectives, nouns, verbs storming blank parchment running ink stores dry. Instead I simply gawk at the word-worthy world. Write poems on the seams of my skin and under my eyelids. Engrave the secrets of my crux in the stem of my brain. Cut out my own tongue. Useless in formation of my phrases, they are inconceivable to modern man. You'll never see my madness untill you examine my insides cut me open, unravel the mystery in my cold blood, Find me dead and read my lips. they will be stuck in a morbid smile
The-empty-cupboard
Written by
The-empty-cupboard
20/American
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
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