Picture of a woman trying to quiet her child 


Again I picked up my pen,
Hoping I would make it bleed as always,
But instead, I stared at my book like a hen,
As I talked with solitude face to face.

I feel nothing, but something, 
But something felt like empty
Indeed, empty was no where close to what I felt, 
But it was something...

The cold breeze walked down my shoulders smouldering, 
And the hairs on my skin, Orgasm 
The fierce heart of a winter soldier bleeds, 
Love was the needle causing the bleat.

Indeed sadness had a long goatee, 
And I was sinking and grinding in it.

By John Omoku Sept.25.2018

This was My first ever poem, and it depicts a broken man, wounded in his emotions... From what obviously was a cut through his heart, a deep cut.

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