Writer’s Blood

I am giving the people what they want, for their rowdiness has been persuasive in tipping my bucket of creative formula. I give you my words. Take them and run like hell. Don’t look back to catch a glimpse of my empty demeanour. Am I saying anything with substance or simply building an unsound structure of squiggles? I abandon blank lines as I trek into the future.

I climb down

the ladder of this page

and realize how stuck I am.

I unravel as another sentence leaks through my fingertips and onto the keyboard. I am thankful for the delicate manner in which my words choose to vacate my body.

I often dream about purchasing a one-way ticket out of my mind, but without it, who am I?

I am letting the stress of my chaotic heartbeat act as an alarm clock. It’s time to wake up.


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