Setting fire to our insides for fun

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The inspiration, the eye’s perspiration
the hole and insatisfaction, the dog-like need to fill it
happy thoughts are complete and do not care of anything other than physical show of its existence
despairs and frustrations and unfulfilled expectations
all cry for words
they need to be spewed in ink or pixels
its a drive, a fuel and a wind for lost broken ships
you don’t build a fort with a happy heart
your needs for expression are greatly diminished on shiny days
borrowing in the sand, digging frantically to swet the pain
flying on a summer rainbown you will smile and nothing more will be said

dwelling with bugs in the night you will write

When a muse is dark and the word only flows when blood is shed
a writing career will need its share of sacrifices
seeking young dameiseles’ hearts to turn against you
knowing how to destroy any care they might have for you
this knowledge will be used against you
in favor of poetry
by your self destructive/creative self
how to make them fall for you
how to make you fall for them
how to make them throw you off a cliff
and in the air, write

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