Broken

BROKEN I can’t say how it feels, But surely know where it hurts. I’m not a twister of fate, Only drained by the flakes of emotions. I’m not a twister of words, But find solace in my ink Poured on white, dividing my thoughts into: Sharing its pains and relief. I’m not a lover of man, But I do know an immortal Dressed in flair skin. Effusion of overflowing wisdom Expands in my lungs Out of watery tongue At a trivia sight I’m really not a twister of words, But twisting is my favorite way Of which my cognition is told.