I write to escape the cruel clutches of boredom

In a land where grey clouds shroud the cold

The wet

The extreme radiant heat

And the light retreats

To the holes of creatures


And it feels like shit

To write without wit

To be utterly out of control

And sail in a raging sea

Without the main sail or stay

To keep the way

Floundering to the depths

With nothing to stay afloat

But the buoyancy of a pen

The End

1 comment about this poem Feed