My pen has run dry
and my paper spoiled
my mind is blank
and my heart empty
My journal is untouched
and my feelings bottled
my temper has run short
and my intentions ruined
the pen marks on paper
are now scars on my arms
the tears that fell
are now burned-in gashes
the beautiful words used
are now mutilated trash
and the expressed stories
are nothing but nightmares
The written out freedom
now is liquefied sensation
and the peace now only achieved
by self-mutilation
My only friend abandoned
look at what Ive done to myself
Mocking this art of poetry
and embarrassing its beauty
Author notes
I am a lost poet... Poetry was replaced by self-mutilation and physical endangerment, longing to redeam the title... Poet
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