the fear of writing is overwhelming now.
with every moment like daring
the keys beneath me.
i cursor left and edge a sharp deletion;
"no, what a tiresome thing."
i squint towards absentee grit on a whim,
and count the number of years.
it's been six.
(6),
and six too many.
have i bled my color all wrong?
my fingers are heavy.
i have no posits to share.
and so, none will be spoken.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 12:34 AM UTC
the fear of writing is overwhelming now.
with every moment like daring
the keys beneath me.
i cursor left and edge a sharp deletion;
"no, what a tiresome thing."
i squint towards absentee grit on a whim,
and count the number of years.
it's been six.
(6),
and six too many.
have i bled my color all wrong?
my fingers are heavy.
i have no posits to share.
and so, none will be spoken.
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