inked

my pen is soaked with ink but
nothing really can get out of it
nothing so much new
and I know, it's called style
or no, it's the way I perspired
staggering, I wished we could be
friends through poetry but we wanted
to achieve something more than that
at least me, indeed, and you too
I am not good at complimenting
I always found your words vivid
and instant new, I liked your verses
I tempted to befriend you because you were
so intouchable in a good way but
I hung out my arm and I collapsed and I stayed
on my side of the torrent, hopefully
it's a metaphor




Poetry by alarian The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 62 times
Written on 2024-06-10 at 08:46

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