Open Book Poem by Alfred Ramos

Like a rose
Your prose
Drew a thorn

Cutting deep
As if asleep
And not yet born

You wrote a book
Threw a wicked hook
And knocked me out

You tainted my ego
You painted me a zero
My survival is in doubt

Your words tore off my clothes
Composed away my pose
You broke down my house of cards

Damn you to hell
I cannot break your spell
So to whom do I give my best regards

Whose soul is left to save
Now that you have danced on my grave
You wrote me an ugly epitaph

I guess the final chapter has been written
Don’t need to show where I’ve been bitten
I don’t even need to do the math