What is wrong with me
How
Have I been drained of creativity
How
Can I force words out of me
How
Can I do what I love when it's been taken from me
What did I do so wrong
For my own poetry to leave a funny taste in my mouth?

I don't want to say I'm in love with you
But
What am I to do when you're
Everything
I see
You're the ink stains on white desk tops
You're the paint splatters in art galleries
You're the words I am typing
I don't want to say I'm in love with you
But what
If
I
Am?

Their words aren't just syllables
They're gunshots
Bullets released from the barrel
Not looking for laughter
But looking to ****
Taking the voices from those who need to use them most
Tears aren't just tears anymore
Tears have turned to blood
Flowing from every exit it can find
Arguments aren't just controversies
They're wars.