lifetime
i’ve spent one thousand lifetimes
hiding behind words that flow from my pen tips
i was poe, i was kerouac, i was sappho
i was a beautiful renaissance maiden
that slept at the foot of Shakespeare
now I am no one special.
my pen pricks my fingertips
and the blood that pours washes away my words
but they were meaningless
i am meaningless
i am breaking into nothing.
and growing-up broken hearted.
i feel so fucking blank.
my mind stares up at you
a white sheet of paper with empty blue lines
it begs for you to write it.
please give me the words and i will say them
i will take them from your lips
in a lusty loving sin.
your quills caress my canvas.
where do i end and you begin?