A Writer’s Woes

It’s your great desire to wound my soul’s skin

But you never bothered knowing what lies within

For the pain you cause is mere inspiration unfurled

And all my body contains is an endless sea of words


Words for the joyous glory, and words for the hurt

Words aureate, lilting, and words ever so curt

Words to keep in secret, words to give and trade

Sentences, verses, stanzas, boundless stories are laid


So go ahead and be my guest

Pierce my heart raw and stab me red

For you’ll never get a satisfying conclusion, lest

For ebony ink is all I’ll ever bled.

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Filed under Poetry

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