Sullen
Sullen sadness
of virginal solitude
Cramped
Locked away
Inside my own
boiling cauldron
of depressed bliss
I Sit there
and Stare
I Sit there
and Wither
Where is the heart
of solution
...Contemplate...
While you read this
Endlessly aching
My world is unconsoled
I'm beginning to think
that sooner or later
the ink on this paper
Will become no more
than a vapor
absorbed
by a line
in a slow
decline
Because writing
with finger tips
is a painful art
But bloods
better to stain
Pen Speak
keep it up
because they dont
seem to know
blood flow
[...] Read more
poem by Samantha Campbell
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