never read because
The cursed words have taken my soul
With such a glorious, ugly grip
That if you stuck me with a pin
Only ink would drip,
Drip,
Drip.
Ink would spill into the garden,
And flowers would bloom black
With every word ever guarded,
With every word held back,
Back,
Back.
And if on a poisoned thorn
You pricked your pretty finger
The words would get inside of you
And they would stick and sting,
sting,
sting.
And the words would take your soul
With such a cruel, tender grip
That if I stuck you with a pin,
Only ink would drip,
Drip,
Drip.
YOU ARE READING
Written in Math Class
PoetryPoetry is nice because I get to dedicate myself completely and totally to writing, and I only have to do it for half an hour. Disclaimer: some of these are about boys.
