After all, some people you had to rehearse your words with.

Forced wordsAre as sinfulAs the next thingBut it is either thatOr losing my mind

NowEven the best pagesEndIn dust

Darling,Never trust the words of a poetBut hold onto his heartAs he holds onto yours

I would gladly take the responsibility of my words, of making more of them, of making volumes of them for the rest of my existence.

But now there was something eating his insides. There were worms in his stomach, creatures crawling in his intestines and spurting out of his guts. He was under the mercy of the word again.

Our lipsHeld the wordsBut our mouthsWouldn’t utterThem

Honey,I writeThe dirtyWayI’m not afraidOf goingInto the darkestCornersOf theWord