Tuesday, April 2, 2019

2

inspiration comes at a price

dreaming through novels,
when the words on the page only drew pictures in my head;
now, instead,
every line is a mission to be
reclaimed and reconfigured,
stolen out of context
and repurposed for my own will.

sleeping through nights,
when the scenes that played in my mind were merely dreams;
now, fleeting
possibility for every story and storyline
random neurons firing becomes
random connections aligning,
bottling the magic carefully.

every line that flows
between my eyes ears brain
is free for the snatching
is free for the ravaging
is free for my mind to take ahold and run
through the streets,
a thin starving gluttonous beggar
to whom nothing is sacred.

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