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Nov 2015
In the back of my head i can hear them,
Tiny voices pulling me near them,
Asking me begging me to write these words.
The voices of dead poets all speaking to me at once
Telling me the words they were never able to speak.

Entrusting me with the words that remain unwritten and unknown.
Inside of me i can hear them growing louder and louder and behind each word the feeling, the passion that burned inside of them.

Like so many things in life the only way to silence them is to satisfy them.
So i desperately write until my hands begin to bleed.
Until tears run down my face and trickle onto the page.

When i run out of ink i will use my blood,
I will write and write until i cant anymore
then i will join them...
I will join the voices that once haunted me. I will become the voice that keeps YOU up at night.
I will become that voice that screams in the back of every writers mind.
ยฉJoel Ochoa |Nov.21.2015
Joel Ochoa
Written by
Joel Ochoa  Bronx, NY
(Bronx, NY)   
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