I'm not a poem writer
Im a knife thrower
Throw it in to my heart
Let it bleed
Drip on the page
And hope it will form words
But lately this trick has become harder
It hurts more
So much
I can't even hold the page!
Drip
Drip
On to the floor
What's the point of bleeding then!
If you get nothing out of it...
Pain
Numb it
Put words
and sounds
In to my ears
It's Just Like serotonin pills
But it's not
It's not good enough
I try so hard.....
To be a poem writer
To relive pain but instead I create it
I create pain..
Instead of taking it away.
This poem feels like is shouldn't end here. But yet I have no more blood to give a page.
