Discussion in 'Poet's Corner' started by Wereghost, Mar 9, 2014.

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  1. Wereghost

    Wereghost Member

    I sit, perched in my hideout
    thinking of all the pretty ways to die,
    stuffing poetic scripture down my throat
    and yawning them out in the morning.
    Then, I wake with nothing--
    no food in my pockets,
    no coins in my teeth
    no joy to scrape off my decorative plate.

    My noon, I am starving for justice
    and grinding my teeth down to nubs.
    I place my thumbs into my own ribs and twist,
    an absent pain, a memory of something unfilled.


    Some freewritten thoughts
  2. soulreaper

    soulreaper Well-Known Member

    not bad, not bad at all, you must read a lot of poetry...
  3. Wereghost

    Wereghost Member

    Thank you. Yeah, pretty much unofficially studying it.
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