A Poet's Addiction
My quill bleeds out thick, black blood
Staining the papyrus
ripped beneath my light pressure
of cold, heavy emotions
The stick of the ink scorched on my skin
Offers me liberating relief
Put me back down, it whispers
it whispers, so sweet
But it's chained to my hand
it will never see rest
Crying, sobbing
rivers of soft regret
Relief is unseen anger
wanting sleep, wanting freedom
Alarming, small voice
in my head, seek help, please
Stop this mourning
Trapped inside its shallow ink heart
is the knowledge, the fear, I am addicted
It's far too late
knowing, not wanting to believe
That I'm gone, I've left, through the old, worn gate...
Now I'm trapped in this field
of crying, sleepy daisies
This meadow of false hope
A tired, scary wasteland
of cruel, twisted jokes
And I won't lie
I desperately want out
but I can't cry, can't stop the flow
My pen is now broken
and so is my newfound outcry of poor, sad emotion.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
