Poetry, Quill

Sinful Ink


The poison is falling off the blade of my pen,

It’s beautiful, the scrawl upon a dead body,

Wonder lies in the breath of a child,

As it climbs atop a tree,

he finds paradise,

But this child is now a part of them,

He poisons his pages,

In the memory of someone he loved,

He paints a picture,

not a thousand words,

Only three would satisfy his heart,

The poison is falling off the blade of my pen,

And it’s clearing my mind and my soul from within,

I want it, not desire it,

I need it, not require it,

My venom is out, it’s flowing from my pen,

My poetry, it opens me, such a beautiful sin.

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