voices like hand grenades.
i'm content with just speaking.
because i've lost the ability to articulate poetically.
i can simply part my lips. and let
the rivers flow. like currents, my words drip
the metaphors are bleeding. and I can only stare
in complete awe. i've never felt this hollow
in my life.
and i want to scream. instead of pour ink
from the wounds that are still- all too fresh. because
i breathe in poetic heartbeats. like some sort of
low class kerouac wanna be. i'm tired of it.
to put it nicely.
and i want to speak. this is what I do.
i feel. far too much to pen on paper. so i want to speak.
and i'm begging you.
listen to me.