Poets Blade

My blood has no taste
Unless served on a steel plate  
Sharp enough to chisel fine words
Bringing primal color to this dinner
Paper on a platter
I consume to later vomit
Acids merged with indigestible flavors  
Sick poems no one desires
These cravings feel like love
Fleshly layers bear resemblance
To each bite  
I take out of my so called life
Written by thoughtsdie
Published | Edited 27th Feb 2024
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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