Like a poem with only half their stanzas
My stories mostly fractured
Incomplete
Missing words and jumping tenses
My reader focuses
Only on the typographical
We all live and die by our words
Some faster than others
Some freefalling
My own self-doubt seemingly accurate
And how that hurts
To read
I should write of brighter days and hopes and dreams
Of frantic wonder and joy
Of infinite splendor
But I cannot decide what to write
I’ve learned the hard way to scorn them all
Words
My muse once called me to marry a woman
Who would bear me children
But who ultimately left me penniless
My muse once called me to record my music
And I sang my brains out for her
As she led me into bankruptcy
My muse once called upon me to write a novel
Dragging out the next ten years of my life
Kicking and screaming as I starved with my obsession
For no purpose whatsoever I still listen
Her siren song
Not a word of it ever true
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5 Comments
Well done. I now know more about you from just that amount of words. This is what writing in the end is about…getting your message across and giving your readers a piece of you.
Thanks, Sugar. You’ve done the same with your own writing. It’s been very cool to watch. How amazing is the internet?
Hey Sugar, don’t pull a Karamelkandi and suddenly disappear, okay? We miss your poems and comments!
LOL… I know what you mean but just being crazy busy with work… Working something new…
I know the feeling… just wanted to say hello anyway!