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For the love of god, write.
Write like all hell.
Write as if your heart is on
Fire, and the only way to quell it is to
from your fingertips.
Your nerve-bitten nails &
****** ripped skin strips,
The papercut pains,
Have all been for this,
No sweeter burn,
No better hurt.
Write, **** you.
Nobody knows your story
As perfectly as you.
Poetic T Aug 2019
We are beggars asking for scraps,
                  but our words are unheard because we don't
                   collect forged notes that never mean much

But hollow forgery's.

I will only give those worth the reading my cents
                                                                ­           of truth.

Never false notes that seem worth on the outside.
                          But then you truly try to spend ,
knowing there merely worth less than the paper
                                                                ­        there wrote upon

Cant we read a wet piece of in for its worth.

                                          not for the forgery that

collects on the venom of who liked it before because they
                                       viewed you without even a constructive


                    What I misspelled that, hats off thanks for the

constructive comment, not the book of consequences,
                that flowed from a there, to a their?
                         yes my English is my first language,

but what I made a mistake but you want to witch hunt
                    my ****, burn me on the mistake of grammar.

what I misspelled that, ooow,
            I had a few beers but my muse kicked off,

and this is what I wrote, chill we ink. W elove what
          we do, a release, a channel of anger.

           For me its just my hobby, I like to ink what ever

falls from my finger sometimes I'm like  of the limit,

    but I still drive my words, even thought some swerve,

you understand where I'm coming from.

— The End —