Poetry

I've been here once before we'll it dejavu.
These words are like stones being thrown.
It keeps piling and etching into the stone.
My words keep appearing while the letters vanish.
Someday they'll read aloud and make sense.
Unlike the contents of my mind constantly scattered.
My brain keeps depicting poetry but never how to piece it. So I kept this peace of mind to throw you into the pad.
The pen is always in rotation so don't expect the ink to end. It's like a writing in blood the only thing flowing is thoughts. Keep it close before it's gone while it's smeared red for you.
This poetry is deep enough to drown in so try not to stray. My minds a maze only others can view from the outside. Leave open the doors so you can wander how vast it truly is. This poetry like hieroglyphics etched in stone so long ago and lost in translation...