blood from my fingers drip
fill quill with ink...
I will have my drink
with the darkness of words
in letters transferred
scribed by lip sync's
where my thoughts are not blurred
puncturing nails,
screams are now heard
I bleed this art
in the depths of written word
and follow the hidden trails
of creation, in this relation
I a poet of tales shedding scales
of frustration
I suffer the cost but love has no price
fueling fire and ice rhyme is my vice
to fill my view, a silent squire
in a cheering crowd, the parade of liars
visions implore the depths of my core,
long in wars, a crimson enslavement,
a vacant arrangement,
I look on as the crowd roars,
my fingerstips dripping blood
on pavement....
© 2011 Rene Velez