Monday, April 22, 2013

No Time for Mortal Love I

A woman once told me
she loved the passion in my pen.
"The way emotions are drawn
so real, so vulnerable."
She asked me what she needed
to write like me. I told her
she didn't want to write like me
and if she did, she would need
more vices than hair to pull out,
more demons than hell itself
and more regrets than breaths left.
I told her to become real,
become vulnerable.

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