I stare the blank page,

And I can see bobbling the syllables,

Begging to spill out, to tell me one more time,

Some sad or naughty tales,

Butte more I stick my fingers down my throat,

Nothing pretty comes, dismantled words, ‘like the story of my life,

It is a complete mess, on the bathroom walls,’ slowly running to the ground, hoping to build some silly story,

So I listen instead the song of my piss,

Screaming the song who can’t,

From my lips, I could go hunt,

Some flesh but instead I zip my trouser back,

And stare back the virgin blank page,

Wondering, drowning myself,

Hoping to wake up in my bed,

Not head banging on my laptop,

Here we go again, inspiration

Play her twisted game,

To turn my head inside out,

All that tiny voice, whispering:

Spit one the virgin, blank canvas!

Inspiration and virginity,

Are battling inside the core of my spine,

Let me tell you ladies,

Tonight, I shall leave you,

Blacken the page,

Because, neither of you are pure,

So I rather stick my finger deeper down my throat,

And watch you drowned the loo,

Piss one more time, music and the sound of flashing you,

Shall be the fifthly poetry, you just made me scribble,

Ok girls let do it!




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jimtwocrows's picture

Wow! You spill it all out,

Wow! You spill it all out, don't you, raw and wet!