We sit here waiting, telling you to write
So we can read something that makes us feel inside
But when the author is in pain
We feel the most
Because pain is the easiest thing to feel
We can all relate
We sit amazed as we are cut by the author's blade

I've wrote enough poems to entertain a country
I've let people with a knife made of words left twisted in their chest
Some of them guak and wonder how they found entertainment
My words are harsh
They are blunt
But my blade made of words
Is enough to entertain all of us