I wonder what it’s like to write poetry;
to make a veritable feast of spontaneity;
to paint the canvas with an imperishable portrait
I wonder how they adorn their tales
with lettered amulets;
an engulfing dalliance that triumphantly seeps
into blank spaces, only to set them ablaze
what do you see, love
in the ubiquitous mirror-
your bedtime stories gasping for air
strangled by your dusk, or
gaudy verses clouding your silhouette
dancing to mad melody
drenched in their own lust?
I'm essentially a loser, but one who would prefer being knocked down a thousand times over rather than give in. I'm attracted by anything or anyone that's broken, physically or otherwise. Something that I recently discovered is that I don't like fantasy- maybe that is why I'll never be a good writer, because all I write is drawn from the circus in our everyday lives, with little or no imagination of my own.
Here's the link to my three-week old blog: https://thoughtsdrunkinpetrichor.wordpress.com/