Man, I used to be clever (meaning this is an old poem).
I try to get the words out, the ones that
Brew until my nerves shout
But I don't speak that language
And I can't
Get it out. I breathe it in
And out and in and out again
And the poetry is dead
And the inkwell is dry
And when I think about it all my nerves start to fry
And the fire should be cleansing
But as I slowly burn I become covered in the ashes
Of the mind that I am losing in the flames.
*A word to the wise
As I said above, all the writen material on this blog is mine, my original work, unless cited otherwise. If you take any material from this blog and call it your own, or use it without crediting me (you should also ask me first - I'd love to be published but not without my consent or knowlege), that's plagiarism and illegal. The fact that this material is on the Internet doesn't make it public domain and no, I don't need a trademark symbol. Got it? Good. Now that we've cleared that up, please read on and enjoy.
I like it.
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