Writers Block ( A Poetic Coma )

Black ink taunts me as it drips
Smudging my lines
Smearing the words across my soul

You

Have

Nothing

Maybe if I dipped the quill in my own blood
The aftermath would bring solace..

(self sacrifice)

Here I offer up a part of myself
(for your viewing pleasure)
The broken pieces to the highest bidder

I am the (un)ob(servant) poet
A slave
& a master to the art

An artist
Starving for my (alphabet) soup

I am (a) em(pathetic) (attempt
at an intellectual piece (peace) of mind)

The paper cuts

& it drips..
. .
..
.......
...you
....have....
nothing....

My pens
They run as dry as my mouth
Cracked
Split at the edges
& spitting up dust
From the thirst for creation

The vowels dance with syllables
(entwining)
Hurling themselves against my temples

A
E
I
O

U

Have nothing

Fucking words anyways..




Copyright 2009 Kandice Bush