The Poem that Bled
By happilydepressed
Twisted fingers on mangled hands
Spurting forth ramblings of nonsense no one understands
The pen tears the paper to the desk
The pages of the notebook bloody and grotesque
Words blur and then wither and fade
The edges of the paper cut the bare eye like a blade
My bloody work left undone
My poem only half written
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Copyright 2020 happilydepressed