PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Again,
she cultivated liquid notations
and slipped her hand into that gray matter
that leaked from beneath her fingernails
and onto blank paper.
She hid her words
and fed them  memories until the dull daily drip of worn out adjectives
left them salivating for a more creative quill.
Eventually,
she bled thoughts like water droplets
clinging to the limp hair of last night's road kill
as it bakes in the sun of the mourn'
with only the passing glances of strangers
to acknowledge an existence cut short
by a few rash decisions not to swerve off a path dictated
by someone else's arrows.
And I--
I mealy sketched her translations.