A voice. Tough. Rigid tone.
Stand still as your stepped upon. Don't speak when spoken to, just listen. Do you hear it? It's a voice that tells you, you can't have; it tells you that you won't be able to touch.
A block. Hard. Happens twice.
But I'm whispering to myself...I've touched it...and I do have it. It's right inside my palm; snipping at my fingers. It wants to bite...but it has no teeth. It wants to write even though, it has no pen.
It's an inspiration with no outlet.......
Did anyone care to help me, paint this picture?
Stand still as your stepped upon. Don't speak when spoken to, just listen. Do you hear it? It's a voice that tells you, you can't have; it tells you that you won't be able to touch.
A block. Hard. Happens twice.
But I'm whispering to myself...I've touched it...and I do have it. It's right inside my palm; snipping at my fingers. It wants to bite...but it has no teeth. It wants to write even though, it has no pen.
It's an inspiration with no outlet.......
Did anyone care to help me, paint this picture?
Glad you saw my fucked up little poem as art. Not my usual style at all, but I was hurt, so I needed to vent that and get it out.