Originally published by Spillwords 2018


I write, I write, my fingers bleeding out words,
Soul aching and striving, looking for meaning,
In a world,
So Crazy.

In a madness,
So real.

How can I, may I, see I… truth – perhaps,
Or in a daydream,
Another reality, there… it reaches, beckons from afar –
Beyond all meaning, it calls,
Beyond all hope, it waits,
Beyond life,
Giving breath again,
To that which was dead.

And no more, no more, no more…
Have I fingers of blood.

rebecca wear robinson

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