Sunday, March 23, 2014

Wordsmith a Murderer

Poetry is dead
Shot through the head
Bang! Dead on the floor
Corpse rotten to the core
Draining words run
Though holes poked by my gun
I stood there blinking
The gunpowder stinking

The discipline and art
All ripped apart
Dead by my pen
And reborn again
To take another hit
When I write this shit

-o0o-
Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!

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