deepundergroundpoetry.com
Miscellaneous Drips
I'm starving,
I'm starving,
Or am I just craving?
Whatever white it's inside me play churning.
With intentions of white hot rage,
I drip and drool this black sadness,
on a white page.
This canvas,
Great artists and poets,
Writers and speakers,
Have laid here before.
They have painted and spit,
Written and dipped
This impassioned blood from veins,
These things emitted from the crux of our pain.
It's dripping off this canvas,
On to the world's stage,
And in it my troubles play.
I'm starving,
Or am I just craving?
Whatever white it's inside me play churning.
With intentions of white hot rage,
I drip and drool this black sadness,
on a white page.
This canvas,
Great artists and poets,
Writers and speakers,
Have laid here before.
They have painted and spit,
Written and dipped
This impassioned blood from veins,
These things emitted from the crux of our pain.
It's dripping off this canvas,
On to the world's stage,
And in it my troubles play.
Published 13th Jun 2013
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