The Poet

Somewhere within
These illicit words
Is an addiction
Strung out
On hope
Stained
With screams
Of regret
Colored
With mortal decay
Left thirsty
Stripped
To its core
Hollow, ruminating, replicating
Through blank spaces
Within the only thing
We know as real
Pounding
These pages
Left empty
In the belief
This all
Leads
To something
Different

poet 2.jpg

The Poet – part 2

29 thoughts on “The Poet

  1. I’m not a drug but I am enticing. I invite others to play on my page, draw their lines across my veins. And because there is space and I see their longing to leave their own mark, I open up to them. That’s my offering. Will you write on my skin? Make me feel real and alive again?

    Liked by 2 people

      1. I feel the same. Mostly, I don’t think I am trying to do anything…I don’t know how. I sometimes feel as if I lack purpose, in my writing and my life. Perhaps that is ok. Perhaps that is more real. Perhaps not. What I do know is that your writing is good, more than good. It speaks to me. So, don’t try….just do (when you can)….if that makes sense.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. You make sense. I guess I normally don’t “try” to do anything. There are simply things I do and things I don’t do. It’s easy sometimes though to put that pressure on yourself that you should be doing something more than what you are.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: The Poet – part 2 – The Stories In Between

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