and she said to me
write more..
write disease...
and i felt the shiftings of verse
again in my nostalgic bones
the smells of rain and sand
the sound of thunder..its clap
all conspired
and plotted
in her favour
and the words just flooded
the paper
so...
that the ink bled over my hands
and the disease wracked my soul
i am diseased dear friend
and i have found its no where near its end
its terminal i know
but i am in its throes
and the bittersweet truth be this
i cant muster the desire to escape
its woes
im shackled
i am bethroed
to this pen
and its ink
as it dances its way
across the parchment
and bleeds my embittered soul
wardha jawdat
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-disease-writes-itself/
