Tired of writing poems of love to someone who doesn't care? Me too! HB therapy...
Words spill out onto the page,
With pencilled hand I vent my rage.
A manic half demented raper,
Stabbing strokes, right through the paper.
Sharp upward lines, downward strokes.
Fingers stained from twenty smokes,
I crease my canvas as I write,
Lead pours spitting, seething spite.
Bitter reality fills this note.
You never read a word I wrote.
You have no clue, these lines I spew,
This poem was not written for you.
Poetry by Purple Phoenix
Read 454 times
Written on 2009-01-27 at 08:32
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Write and Wronged
Words spill out onto the page,
With pencilled hand I vent my rage.
A manic half demented raper,
Stabbing strokes, right through the paper.
Sharp upward lines, downward strokes.
Fingers stained from twenty smokes,
I crease my canvas as I write,
Lead pours spitting, seething spite.
Bitter reality fills this note.
You never read a word I wrote.
You have no clue, these lines I spew,
This poem was not written for you.
Poetry by Purple Phoenix
Read 454 times
Written on 2009-01-27 at 08:32
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Eli |
| Texts |
 by Purple Phoenix Latest textsCatharsisEggs on Freeways Blank Canvas Seasons of Green Sweet Sunday |
Increase font
Decrease