One word: Deep.

Literature Is My Porn

She was constantly turning melancholy

Into poetry

Splattering the pain, that

Coursed through her veins

Onto pages of blank paper

And watching, as her pain

Wrote beautiful verses

Turning pain into an art form

Making people cry, at

How something so ugly

Could create something so beautiful

She didn’t write poetry

Poetry wrote her.

-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore

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