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Click hereevery poet charts a course
opening windows to their soul
yellow brick roads
stairways to hell
needs and fetishes offered up
placing emotions on keyboards
conjuring devils and angels
warp speed through a cyber brothel
entangled but unattached
a Literotican black hole
spurred on by the diehard 'Anonymous'
spurred on by the diehard 'Anonymous'
Each poet pulls something from within and pours it out via the keyboard hoping his inspiration and natural abilities will be enough.
A black hole?
Oh no, we're stuck at Lit
And have been sucked in
With creativity forever hidden.