My Typewriter
I ran you through my typewriter,
your face had
many letters
indented,
It turned out banging the keys on
the skin , left your
soul totally
tormented.
Now I pray it wasn't for naught,
your anger left me
with a jammed
typewriter.
I beg your letter face-plant didn't
hurt, I will offer a cigarette:
but I have no
lighter.
Yorktown Disciple
I ran you through my typewriter,
your face had
many letters
indented,
It turned out banging the keys on
the skin , left your
soul totally
tormented.
Now I pray it wasn't for naught,
your anger left me
with a jammed
typewriter.
I beg your letter face-plant didn't
hurt, I will offer a cigarette:
but I have no
lighter.
Yorktown Disciple
Order # 11185
I
pray
it
wasn't
for
naught
pray
it
wasn't
for
naught
Yorktown Disciple
Poetizing around the world
Poetizing around the world
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All rights reserved
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Quatrain of My Typewriter - 11185 - Yorktown Disciple
Poem Sanctum