Every word
is a cut
slice
poke.
The blood pours
flows
trickles
until at last
I'm paper white
with nothing left
to give.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
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a daily poetry blog (minus weekends) and a nice way to not be a procrastinator...
2 comments:
Every poem is a friggin struggle. The words aren't there. I'm trying to post as much as possible, but hell.
I hear you on this one. I like the image of the speaker turning paper white as his blood is spilled on the page. Well played. This blog sort of reminds me of a scene from the movie Fight Club when people are thanking Tyler for creating it, yet they have broken noses and cuts on their face. So thanks Chris!
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