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La Petite Mort of Creativity

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Let me bleed out a moment’s release,

from this contemptible inner peace.


my tears are too clear of midnight ink,

my thoughts are apathetic and indistinct.


I look for omens, cracks in bedroom mirrors,

for owls, magpies - among nests of unfamiliar


I churlishly spread my coquettish legs

seducing any passing stranger’s death.


To be touched - trembled by fingers of grief,

so I can weave a wanton poetic wreath


I call all gods to bring me a sultry storm,

traumas to ride wild into rhythm and form.


I hunger for blood of an illicit lover’s return

to break open my heart, leave me spurned,

filling this barren womb with words

that haven’t been born, read, or heard.


© Katypoetess 2016




◄ Immortal Soliloquy

Forsaken ►


Maggie Jacobs

Sun 22nd May 2016 18:51

This is very interesting and mystical poem. I liked it very much; especially the use of vocabulary and rhyming techniques. But overall, I thought it was a marvelous poem.

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Nigel Astell

Mon 9th May 2016 12:46

Words to be born
read with uttermost seduction
poetry that will ravish
body yearning for love
now satisfaction is overflowing
in pure gothic blood.

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Martin Elder

Mon 9th May 2016 12:40

This is lovely Katy but makes me feel it is more a song than a poem. Particularly like the opening line

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