Poem – My pen it spits at you

My pen it spits at you

All the things you

Run away from

Including the all but forgotten truth

 

My pen it spits at you

Venomous the ink

As you smear it across your face

With your every futile

Attempt to wipe it off

 

My pen it spits at you

Hands forever stained

Growing darker every day

Frightened by facts

You cannot face

 

My pen it spits at you

Your black roses

Long ago laid in boxes

Wrapped up like gifts

But were never to be given

 

My pen it spits at you

All that you swore to yourself

Was too well hidden

To ever be discovered

By anyone least of all yourself

 

My pen it spits at you

Or does it constantly spray

Aimed at reaching the many like a sprinkler

And you are the child

That can never get enough

Long after the street lights illuminate

You continue to play

 

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