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monstercat rambles

on and on and…

paper thin, two-dimensional eyes
deep, three-dimensional knowing
empty blueblack holes
leading me down
into my soul

when the muse escapes
sometimes the only relief from that emptiness
is to create a little chaos
to self-destruct
Would that you were my chaos

Left with only vices and devices, a writer stares at a blank page that mocks

Why did your muse leave?
{snicker}
Did you not love it deeply?

With a switchblade tongue, the writer cuts

Is it not to love me deeply?
{sigh}
Devour me

In darkness do I dwell
Inside the night is where I live
fully, truly, loudly

I inhale summer, sultry hot
and smell it in my lungs
feel it on my skin
I exhale winter, sharp cold
and see it in the space around me
feel it on my skin
Inhale summer
Exhale winter
Suuuummer
Wiiiinter
Suuuuuuuuummer
Wiiiiiiiiinter
Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummer
Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinter…

Deconstruction
to the edge
of destruction

The smell of freshly sharpened pencils
evokes the writer

I will sleep
when I don’t have anything
else
to write
or when the music stops

If you were someone’s muse
would you recognize it
recognize when you inspired someone’s
words/art/music…lust

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