One More (Poem)

My heart is a crowded mass of pins.

You seek space to jab another in.

I can barely feel it.

I’m so used to the sting.

Used to the weight of metal within.

I know, I should’ve pulled them free.

Now though… there’s just too many.

I’d bleed out at your feet.

All the pain for nothing.

.

.

The art is mine.

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28 Comments

      1. Oh, I got a loooooot of those calls, after working for about 20 years on the phone….

        People say I have a very sexy voice on the phone… And pervs reaaaally enjoy it. Those calls must be pretty cool when you have an idea who’s calling, but meh, definately not always a turn on LOOOOL

        Liked by 1 person

      2. It can be funny, but it gets old fast… I remember this guy who used to just ask me, in a whispering voice… “Are you wearing sandals?” obviously really excited about the subject…. LOL

        Liked by 1 person

      1. My pleasure… Your mom seems like a very wise woman πŸ˜‰

        I just think your work would make a very pretty book. I sure would like to put a copy of it in my personal library πŸ™‚

        Liked by 1 person

      2. She is very wise and beautiful, I’m told I take after her. Lol πŸ˜› πŸ˜†

        I would love for there to be a copy for your library too.πŸ˜€
        Thanks Cyranny, I’m really going to think about it. I probably have enough content for it by now.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. I really like the look of the drawings with the humor… and I think your poetry+your drawings have a similar working signature… Not meaning that your work resembles his, but the mix of your words and your visual art is like a symbiosis!

        Liked by 1 person

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