Thursday, January 04, 2018

On hand and knees, she leans over,
cups her palm to your ear,
whispers,
You know what writers need?
Heartbreak;
Unrequited love;
Broken families.
Of feast and famine,
they breed on starvation.
Hungry words make for pure sustenance
of ugly creatures.

Pour them out,
until you are dust.
Every filament burnt out in your eyes,
but bursting with light in the depths of your ribcage,
illuminating a thoracic wasteland.
As your heart sputters,
the letters become bold like key strokes
on the typewriter you no longer use.

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