and she said to me <br />write more.. <br />write disease... <br />and i felt the shiftings of verse <br />again in my nostalgic bones <br />the smells of rain and sand <br />the sound of thunder..its clap <br />all conspired <br />and plotted <br />in her favour <br />and the words just flooded <br />the paper <br />so... <br />that the ink bled over my hands <br />and the disease wracked my soul <br />i am diseased dear friend <br />and i have found its no where near its end <br />its terminal i know <br />but i am in its throes <br />and the bittersweet truth be this <br />i cant muster the desire to escape <br />its woes <br />im shackled <br />i am bethroed <br />to this pen <br />and its ink <br />as it dances its way <br />across the parchment <br />and bleeds my embittered soul<br /><br />wardha jawdat<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-disease-writes-itself/
