Published by

Anonymous

Wachinagi

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Bronze Poet

Pre-season game

Pre-season game
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I can’t seem to write anything today.

I want to write a new verse

but my brain gets in my way.

My hands they want to speak to me.

I want to listen to my friends.

Will hands defeat brain today?  We’ll see.

I explode out of the gate, racing at a fevered pace, trying to put distance between my hands and my head.  Parts and places and blurry faces all surround and encompass me.  I scream at them, trying to distort the images more.  I need confusion and pain and exquisite distraction, but all I get today is clarity of thought.  It was never this hard when I was loved, so much easier to feel the threads of creativity in my hands and allow the stream of nothingness to take me where it wanted.  Today, I am too full.  Today I have no guide.  Today I am nothing.

Today I cannot reach to touch that fire; my inner madness.  Today I am ordinary and apathetic. 

Pathetic.

Brain ahead by 2 points, hands call a time out.

Delay of game due to rain…





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