I write because I have nothing better to do So let’s not shit ourselves It’s isn’t due to some otherworldly drive

To eject this ethereal passion that lies within me And relay it through any means available By picking away at my scabs and using the blood To etch free verse into these concrete walls By ripping out my hair and laying each strand As a letter upon the whore’s soil By tearing off my fingernails to place in the pattern of prose On the wooden staircase that leads to your apartment door Because I’m as empty as my stomach And I’m as sore as my throat Kicking my way through life

Sign up to vote on this title
UsefulNot useful