tw: gore and guts
guts:
one slit into my abdomen.
i'll spill my guts out onto the page.
pour all of me out for you.
splatter all of my blood onto the paper.
hand it to you.
you'll take it and beg me for more.
so i'll listen.
keep pouring myself out for you.
until i can't anymore.
YOU ARE READING
my poetry isn't real ☆
Poetry"i'm a poet in the sense that i write poetry. god awful poetry that doesn't rhyme or make sense" a collection of poems, tackling all sorts of topics, from all kinds of inspirations, from a writer who's sure his work is nothing more than pretty words.
