MusingsPoetry

Twelve Letters

Words run out lazily from my head
And the hand gets confusingly dead
The fear of being tense, and not making sense
Nobody knows what I go through searching for words,
it gets painful like an injury from a sword.
Can you help me right?
I meant write
Can I stare at this fright,
and still, kick her off my sight?
I saw love in poetry,
so I replaced blood for ink
but at times I lack the lines for a purple story

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