Lucy BC

Exhibitions of a Poet

Ink stains the tips of my fingers,
Black blood dribbles from my wrists
I lick it off

We are ravenous creatures,
Never restrained by chains of convention.
It shows in our eyes, wild and wide from lack of sleep: society\'s finest poets,
Academics from across the globe.

We drive the nightlife, lust deprived and looking for trouble.
More blood stains our mahogany desks—
They will never come off, these scars
Never.