Perpetual flow going far too slow.~
Inkwells deep down in these hells.~
I'm far too deep to hear the churchbells.~
Flowing on the page I write my sorrows all night. ~
Into an ocean of pity they see in me. ~
I cut so deep you could see the veins in my back. ~
Is there a receipt for birth please take me back. ~
Flowing on the page ink too hot to stay. ~
So I stand here with nothing left to say.~
YOU ARE READING
Old poems (editing in progress)
PoetrySometimes, I just want to see something I can look at in a million ways.
