Feeding the “Itch” of a Writer!

Fingers dancing beautifully
on the keyboard,
tap dancing carefully on each key
every calculated step
generates beautiful words
virtually inked on that blank slate
It’s a good day to write

It’s a gorgeous Saturday morning,
that hungover feeling, the smell of yester-night’s drinks
they still linger, you are smiling

It’s damp outside, the rain teased us
with sessions of heavy doses and then disappearing
You play those bluegrass songs,
It’s a weird feeling, but nonetheless a high

You want to have that cigarette with your morning coffee
but the pack you smoked yesterday
claws down your throat

and still you smile,
what a puzzlement that brain of ours is
you think it conspires with the heart?
you think it fucks around with you,
and then giggles tremendously with the heart?

You think sometimes it just takes a day off
leaves all to the heart?
The simple yet most complex formula
of MIND over BODY
will forever torment us
silly souls,
feeding on romance, lusting for adventure
injecting chaos, snorting the nightlife
Smoking the idiots, inhaling lovers
Exhaling pain,
dancing to music, tasting life’s sinful pleasures
falling in fuck-ups, getting our selves up
working to the bone,  living immortally
Kissing the world, hoping for everything

There was never a day that wasn’t a cocktail
of disappointments laced with uppers
diluted with experience with after effects of “lessons learned”
but when the sun sets and I see the dark veil cover the sky
I still back, I light that damn cigarette
I look at the traffic below,
the frustrated society, honking and yelling at each other

I take a drag, I let out a smiling sigh
I live in a country running on crack, everyone is edgy
but hey, what better could a writer wish for
if every day is an entry, fed to me by
the junkies of this beautifully chaotic



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