Rastrophiliopustrocity

By Guinevere Freeman

My hand raises to write

Not for what it may create

But to simply stop the ache

Although I fill blank white 

Rastrophiliopustrocity

Creatives madness fills me wholly

A burning passion that is lowly

To desperately invoke pity

Joy is not in the eloquent prose

But in the final true translations

Of mine own mind in its creations

Which I do desperately disclose

By Guinevere Freeman