addicted
What’s better than sex
That makes your tongue reflex
While expressing all of your interests
Of your feelings that explodes in your nerves’ from your ineptness
Of your soul that your mind and soul just cannot control
Just cant no longer with hold
The utterance of your heart that when it speaks it makes you climax
To the highest impact
That makes your toes and eyes roll back
And the hairs on your back, stands up, just like that,,,,
When my mind don’t direct my heart to write
I can feel my insides ready to put up a fight
It keeps me up all night,
tossing and turning, oh for my pen, I’m painfully yearning
In my mind I’m blowing up like a dynamite
My paper is like my crack
And my pen is like my pipe
My poetry speaks nothing but facts
When my words are like the ultimate fight
And at the same time my style is very sultry
I’ve got to admit I’m addicted to poetry
Or is poetry addicted to me
Because I stay in desperate need
Like a bounded slave,, crying to be set free
Like an over due baby in the womb
Like the anxious
Jesus being held in the tomb
I just write when sometimes it don’t pertains to whom
Give me some more papers because I’m running out of room
I’m running out of room and I gotta express how I feel
that’s the only way that I know I can keep It real
I’ve got to admit I’m addicted to poetry
Or is poetry addicted to me,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
By: illustrious 09
That makes your tongue reflex
While expressing all of your interests
Of your feelings that explodes in your nerves’ from your ineptness
Of your soul that your mind and soul just cannot control
Just cant no longer with hold
The utterance of your heart that when it speaks it makes you climax
To the highest impact
That makes your toes and eyes roll back
And the hairs on your back, stands up, just like that,,,,
When my mind don’t direct my heart to write
I can feel my insides ready to put up a fight
It keeps me up all night,
tossing and turning, oh for my pen, I’m painfully yearning
In my mind I’m blowing up like a dynamite
My paper is like my crack
And my pen is like my pipe
My poetry speaks nothing but facts
When my words are like the ultimate fight
And at the same time my style is very sultry
I’ve got to admit I’m addicted to poetry
Or is poetry addicted to me
Because I stay in desperate need
Like a bounded slave,, crying to be set free
Like an over due baby in the womb
Like the anxious
Jesus being held in the tomb
I just write when sometimes it don’t pertains to whom
Give me some more papers because I’m running out of room
I’m running out of room and I gotta express how I feel
that’s the only way that I know I can keep It real
I’ve got to admit I’m addicted to poetry
Or is poetry addicted to me,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
By: illustrious 09
