Poetry: Dangers

Hello again. On writing. Don’t know how or why this ended up having seven-line stanzas, but there you go.

Enjoy…

Dangers

Sometimes,
I aim
A thought
Like a laser,
Straight
From the grey
And onto blank pages.

Tattooed.
The ink,
When printed, is safer:
Cradled
And caged
In sheets
Of blank paper.

Grey lines
Provide
The confines
And I
Confine my mind
Further;
Working in rhyme.

The birth
Of new verse
Will hurt
Every time:
As thoughts into words
Are sharp
In spiked writing.

-Flirtations

Moleskine_ruled_notebook,_inside_view

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