She laughed with disapproval Glittered motion sickness I grabbed a her head tossed her hard enough so I can be dead The **** came on-a charging angry I took his limbs he discarded all my paperwork tons of scribbling years of failing
Weakened from dreaming Wandering in the dark while the mice weren’t making any peeping He said I can’t breathe but my lungs were blacker than his death I’ll let them shoot me in the back and maybe I wouldn’t mind it I figured it would be allright I don’t have tryophobia
****** so many ***** but I didn’t get the job The moon is bright in the sky yet you’re not smart I keep writing on trees but please believe me I already have arthritis before thirty Standing and eviscerating I keep writing on everything they try to stop me but I hold back
They were chilling and waiting on his death bed Said the last rites but he already knew they loved him I don’t know my write from the wrong doing He’s finally accepted how life jerks you off the wrong way I think I got graphomania
I will not write any poetry tonight somewhat colder is the night the cedars sleep the cat is right to curl up in dreams so I will not write any poetry tonight besides, how many can you write (unless I want this graphomania, that some say is our life) the cedars sleep the cat is right - I will not write any poetry tonight but watch time creep until the dawn