poetry in my bones, just a little plenty in my bones, it burns and burns even when i try cleanse away creativity in my bones, i have love for other things;

I have spread the sheet to my bed… Now that there is no more experien… Now there is no more poetry, and n… There is nothing new to write abou… Under the sun or far away from bey…

I cry blood I cry a very dark red blood I cry I cry to read along the lines I Cry a meaningless tear sometime…

You should see the sketch of sorro… You should see the pain written in… You should try to dig what is hidd… Can you not see how her eyes are t… When her brows flinches up and dow…

To the SS What do we call love? We would call love war Because our passions raw, We would call love friends,

Love will have no manners Or conciousness to rebuke for, Because nothing dire will decend When eyes finds an obssession to f… Will it walk on rail and loose tra…

Even if the devil whispers are lou… Can you alter his ego around? May you not kneel or lie or squat… Munificence alarm, Can you tell me what he looks like…

Love is The easiest Subject To write About Because

This could Be Magic Only if You

A bird with a flightless wings That is what her love brings When clock can tick no more Like a naked eye of a devils core. With a shame your rebel foresee