Write what you want until your fingers bleed,
Blood smears the paper with lines of passion.
Rhymes swirl inside your head with fatal speed.
Letters dressed in their own kind of fashion.
YOU ARE READING
Eunoia
PoetryBehind every poem is a story too afraid to be told bluntly. . . . I intend to write to make you feel.
Writing (Lost sonnet)
Write what you want until your fingers bleed,
Blood smears the paper with lines of passion.
Rhymes swirl inside your head with fatal speed.
Letters dressed in their own kind of fashion.
