she had words flowing through her veins.
when her skin was punctured,
ink dripped out.
dripped carefully on the pages of a notebook.
sometimes the words were blocked,
and it felt like she was suffocating.
but she always knew it would be words that would be the death of her,
at least it was her own.
YOU ARE READING
creating constellations
Poetryan abundance of space metaphors and you. #1 in poetry 6/7/16