“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed”
In a more modern sense, I suppose for this poem I will sit down at my keyboard and bleed:)
(and if you enjoy this post, I will always appreciate a pizza)
Hydrogen peroxide graciously gets out bloodstains,
ice packs are my friends for bruises.
A pill or two helps back pain
and cold water heals a burn;
has easy remedies
But my dreams, when they scream for fulfillment,
get the stifled whisper of “one day”
But my heart, when broken,
carries a hollowed out, lake-heavy ache
But my mind, when sleepless,
summons incessant insomnia to my bedside.
Yes, there is nothing hard to dreaming,
just sit at the blue-light screen, and bleed.