Loading...

After

The irony of the amusement I feel
When you call my ability a gift
The very skill comes from agony
All the “art” that flows
From my head through my hands
Was caused by the absolute
Complete ugly that seeped
From his head through his hands
I make it seem as if it were no big deal
 
Call it a utter tragedy
No matter the name given
I am sure of one thing
It has compromised my sanity
 
The words are placed in my brain
Against my will, I have no say
The longer they remain inside
The more persistant the itch becomes
To get it out and relieve myself
I feel as if I am a derailed train
 
No matter if I beg and say please
The words keep coming
I will not complain though
At the end of the long days
The words are what bring me ease

(2014)

Liked or faved by...
Other works by Liza Jane...



Top