Stretched souls.

Putting my ear close to my soul

I hear the sweet melodies writing brings within me

and the indulgence of a writer in these sweet sounds has its own unmatchable reward. 

We are seen dancing to an unknown music

known only to those with sharp senses,

senses that can grasp the infinite magical constituents of our old world.

Slick as pipelines, 

we got our crowns tilted

Weeping poets having Introspective revolutions 

taking us higher and higher to sublime mental planes

but with a barbed wired wrist 

the pages in my notes wail endlessly

and the ink in my pen bleeds red.