A Poet’s quill

Ignify this little flame 
Into a blazing fire, 
Grab the word's threads
And weave them the way I desire. 
Dress my own dreams
from traditional to morden
Burn my dreadful thoughts
And leave behind,the
Dark residues of Burdens. 

Tell me if, 
There are words
that are capable of screaming
My inevitable feels, 
Tell me and I'll let my 
Swords-like pens, 
Bleed words on paper
and go Haywire
Till the paper is filled with
The
dark
and
Sorrowful,
fragrance
Of
Me. 

© 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒 & 𝑃𝑜𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑦