Inspiration

I can feel the pulsating raw living thing a poem is It’s starting to fade away under the frantic stabbing of my rage It shanks like the caged with no reason or end game As soon as the feeling dissipates the beating fades I see the trailing blood just a messy reminder of the resistance that made me so angry Enough to pour it all out on paper and screen until it was lost A sprinting off A circular logic jogging back around to the start So I try to erase the evidence it wasn’t a masterpiece of heartache from the start
K.B. Silver
~~KEEP SCROLLING TO COMPLETELY READ~~
