The Price of Poetry

Quietly inhaling the world through small painful lessons lessen in quantity the more you b***h and moan about the burning in your throat.

 

Only sickness numbs rage found in passion, and now I am terminal.

 

Despairs for p*****s that can't hold their breath for longer than a lifetime.

 

Screams come up and air goes down while all around the world waits for words.

 

Quality of life found bound, beaten and raped with pens stabbed through the heart.

 

The very center of the system growing anxious and infectious, causing tonic spasms as lockjaw becomes a new form of expression.

 

The price of poetry.