A writer's mind is vile and tainted
What you see of them,
Is a mask that they've painted
Mind of mine,
Such a rotten thing
My thoughts are decayed
And it makes me sing
These words, I can't keep-
And so they creep
(I can't stand their whispers..)
Out my eyes
Out my mouth
(I must let them out!)
And when that wall breaks,
My words, they don't trickle
They race and they flow
They rush of my pencil
Out, onto this page
As a spider's web,
They have no age
These scribbles, they weave
Full to the brim
With spite and trickery
They're no longer mine, but
Every bit as bitter as me.
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Submission Name: The Mind Of A Writer
