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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in Older Poetry

A Blood Letting

a rewrite of an older piece...
I came to tell a story
of love,
how the stars move me.
I came to make you dream
and desire to held

but I can't.

Deep inside my soul is trembling,
sending vibrations
while life pounds hard
against my veins.
Heart is beating, straining
against my chest as
is shoves the blood towards
my fingers.

The red flood comes out in words,
to show all my fears,
all my dreams,
to lay my soul bare to you.
Undeniable is the inability
to hold back
as it streams out my fingertips
and spreads onto the page.

All the rage I have ever felt runs
down my arms,
emerging as anguished tears,
I give them to you.
Take them, do what you will
with what I give.
It is no longer mine,
as if it ever was.

I was born to write, therefore
I never owned these feelings,
I only held them
until I found you to
give them to.
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