I have now truly descended into the writer’s narrative.

Nearly broke upon the venture to sell my words.

Nourished only by visions sprung within my punctum caecum.

Driven only by a feeling that my fingers are stretching toward the cusp of novelty.

There is a reason this is romanticized,

And, as I eat my words, the claws in my stomach slow.


– MEW

Photo by Nazmi Zaim on Unsplash

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