Again and again,
I write poems or texts,
Again and again,
Silence follows my voice.
Nobody cares, nobody shows,
Like a dead man doing a show,
I try to feed off my talent,
But I'm dying mounting a tent.
I feel pain from doing poetry,
I feel good from writing blood,
I never felt as much reality,
As when I was sucking on blood.
I wanna go out and cut something,
Maybe slice a throat under the moon,
How pleasuring, how exciting,
To drink blood with a spoon.
YOU ARE READING
Prose and poetry
PoetryProse and poetry, feelings and speech in text. I wanted to live as a human, But never never really was a man.
