Poets
are sick.
Our thoughts poison our minds,
they beat on the inner walls of our skulls
until we spit them out into words.
We have to share them with the world
in order to cleanse ourselves fully.
But sometimes they poison other people, too.
And maybe these people don't know how to cleanse themselves.
I don't want to hurt anyone.
YOU ARE READING
SUBLIMINAL MESSAGES
PoetryLiminal living; these things are not for the weak of heart.
