Writers Ills

Ink is blood, pen is razor
May the writer bleed his ills
The page absorb his self inflicted sins

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A Shameful Repost, No forgiveness required!

I can flower a collection of literary confetti and a bountiful wealth of fantastical phraseology to add flavour to the most mundane assembly of letters

Or cut ruthless style to the core with a god darn and ain’t it, whilst friggin hell playing it thirties style gangster to put the boot into any fancy Dan outburst of words

But one thing for sure….

I’ll write verses of hellion fury and cursed blessings of the damned with a hell of a shot that ain’t half on the QT, and god darn if there no sunny sunshine in anything I flow from the treacherous depths of my obsidian clad mind

If I feel like it!

 

A Writers Wounds

Nightmares cursed to paper; the harbinger a pen full of blades

A scythe sets tomes to stone; the blood of a poet makes its stain

Wordful storms of literary hail that mercilessly rain down without remorse

Sanity accused of logical heresy set to fire

Insanity leeching off the unholy flames

As I bleed my story onto blackened page in varying tones of a banshees scream

 

So I present for your guilty pleasure

Every ounce of my pain