poets die young

more of a tribute for our feelings to the craft that we love to do.

Poets die young

 

Let my eye's puss ignorance

Pink eye can stay contagious.

Choosing to be enlightened by amazement.

Let my mouth drip drool.

For desire is nothing more than a tool.

Let my heart sink to my stomach.

The latic acid can chare it emotionless.

Let my brain become a sponge.

Absorbing "man's" liquid language.

Let my bones become glass.

Nothing more than small ashes

Let my soul have 20 layers of skin.

So satan will have a tough f*****g time peeling at this bothersome weakness!

By Patrick Paul Shawver