She Wrote By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
In the words of Ernest Heming way,
"There is nothing to writing.
All you do is sit down at a typewriter
and bleed"
And bleed, she did.
As the pungent liguid
seeped out of her ailing veins,
She became irrepresible,
poised,
enpowered.
With her head in the clouds,
but her gravity centre
she radiated with cerainty
in a world full of doubt.
In a world full of can'ts, don'ts, and wonts,
a world that constantly told her "no"
when the only response she ever ached for was "yes"-
she wrote.
Equipped with a boundless lexicon
inked on her flesh and bones,
she soared to heights far beyond a mere mortal's reach...
where comtempt and all things dissonant
ceased to exist.
This became her escape,
her euphoria,
her drug.
Spiralling in the abyss
of what she believed to be her own creation,
she felt naught but an invigorating rhapsody.
Her words gently chorused the melody
of an ever-so-faint symphony,
and if you were lucky,
you'd be one of the very few souls
able to hear
its music.
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