I want no more than to cast away my demons
with these verses tattooed in the femur.
Insomnia has substituted my eyes with coffins,
and a mirror watches my dilation among inexistent colors and smells.
I focus on the blank page;
it ferments my dog´s hatred,
which runs along the storm biting the stars of its master…
Often i have an impression, that worse i feel, more poetry is flowing out of me.
Good, nicely crafted poem, contrary to described feelings. Upvoting!
Do check my poems, if you wish.
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Thank you very much for reading, I will go through your blog reading your poems.
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Welcome, and thank you.
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