The swift strokes of blood,
fall upon a snow white palate.
The darkness of the soul,
put on display.
The world will feel my wrath,
for all the pain it's caused.
My pen and I can do anything,
and that's my hidden trait.
I can cut you with my words,
and leave you wanting death.
This is the measure of my soul.
This is my art.
Published by Marshall Culpepper
I am 25 years old. I write mostly editorials and poetry. Open to any assignments. I speak two languages. English, and American Sign Language. Both of my parents were deaf, and very proud of it. I learne... View profile
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