I am still trying to pen better poems.
My fingers have adopted a fashion of wearing pins and needles.
Sometimes pain is hard to scrape off my skin so I wear it like lotion…
Like the way our generation carries sin under its skin.
It feels like blood is leaving my veins
Oozing through the pen.
Losing words and my heart is beating me.
I’m oozing pain.
This paper cannot digest my expressions
I’m a loner; alone now.
No shoulder wants to be cried on to.