88. Writer - 3

I'm a writer
Death comes to me very easily
It's life,
Sailing through which is my pain
Whether blossoming​ beauty or a turbulent tragedy
I will never cry or celebrate,
But An unexpected war(of words)
I will precipitate
I will swim through the ink of sorrows
Commence the corrosion of my bones
Crumble the corners of my heart
The agony will slit me apart


I'm a writer
Everytime my heart is broken
A few people smile I reckon.