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Literature Text
i will never have a moment of peace,
not when poetry lurks behind my eyelids,
whispers horror stories to me before unconsciousness and
seeps in through the minuscule
cracks of my skull to
spread herself like a virus,
(loving me,) infecting my brain;
i know it now.
not when poetry lurks behind my eyelids,
whispers horror stories to me before unconsciousness and
seeps in through the minuscule
cracks of my skull to
spread herself like a virus,
(loving me,) infecting my brain;
i know it now.
every time i blink open my eyes, coming out of a slumber, poetry is the first to greet me, and pardon me if i say i grow tired of her. i think we could do with our own breaks.
© 2016 - 2024 vomitingviolets
Comments14
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If I may be so bold-
as one who has gone through a long bout of writers block, I say embrace her and treasure her for who and what she is. When she leaves, you will be hollow and lost as if a part of you has been left behind somewhere unknown.
Your writing has such a depth to it, that if we are not careful, we may just drown.
as one who has gone through a long bout of writers block, I say embrace her and treasure her for who and what she is. When she leaves, you will be hollow and lost as if a part of you has been left behind somewhere unknown.
Your writing has such a depth to it, that if we are not careful, we may just drown.