|
|
|
|
| Phenom | Kingz | Dabatos | TonySelf | Tha Q | Half Breed | Tito | 7th End | RV Radio  |
02-19-05, 05:48 PM
|
#1
|
|
|
Writtens Of The Damned..
IP:
Writtens Of The Damned
By Luke B-Quist Swollen tongues cripple the speaking of my own thoughts. Scars scrape across my veins like the knifes’ that cut them. The cracks of will cannot intervene through the barricaded wall of stress. No longer able to do my own will. To do that which will never benefit me. The lighted pathways of peer’s loyalty is tinted by the darkness Of beings’ fake interpretation. Can I continue to write much longer? Poignancy dwells within the the puntucured walls Of my tinted, fainted, empty mind… Pens are uncontrollable through the grasping hand Of my poet. The inscribed letters control my every thoguht… Once upon a scripture I wrote for myself. Expression, Feeling, an essence to feel my inner emotions… But the pen wasn’t perfect. It clogged. I could not write. It soon became to overcome my tries to write for myself. My emotion of truth was unable to be indignantly expressed. Plunging my mind into the literature of depressing poetry. It clenched my poetic self and dragged me down… I was no longer writing poetry…The poetry was writing me. Invisible to friends, foes, and clients alike…but still there. The corruption of literary expression…hanging in the foul air like a Vulture waiting to attack. Circling over my ink flooded crippled self… Horrific hunger from my poetic pen. Craving everlastingly the Tears of my wet eyes. It feeds on the paroxysm of my emotions. But you can never quench its hunger… It’s dark chilled fingers scar into my spine…grasping my throat, And choking my true will to write what is my own out of me… I’m barricaded in my own lies. In trapped within this ink ridden utensil which I once used as an expressing weapon of my faith. Hope has lingered and escaped out of the cracks of my inner sanctum. The will to accomplish what I desire is no longer agreeable. The poetry writes me…It makes me write for how you all want. For your own damn opinions! This cursed pen writes the morbid scriptures To your own thoughts and likes. What is my point in this literary journey? I hold the pen with a blank and mindless knowledge… It writes me…it writes my poetry… These are the truths behind the writings of so many. The blood drawn scriptures that were once your emotional companions… They are nothing… …..Nothing but writtens of the damned. |
|
|
|
| Thread Tools | Search this Thread |
| Display Modes | |
|
|
Threaded Mode