Die A Little

It rained
daggers of critique
when you whispered
my flaws that morning

It thundered
roars of reality checks
when you tapped into
my weakest loves

My words dampened
and withered
weighed with mistakes

My lines blurred
with self-doubt
as they melted in
the white paper
that held them
for so long

My ideas remained
tattooed in my mind
for my muses were
dormant and
lost for words

My feelings shaken
stirred in tiny whirlwinds
seeking stability
they could only find
when they embody themselves
in literature
on paper

My heart heavy
with the burden of newness
grew bigger
beating excitement
mixed with anxiety
putting my whole
body in a frenzy

My hands aching to dance
traced the letters
on the keyboard
longing to stomp in tango
confirming the saying
that it takes two to do so

My whole being
yearned for a taste
of emotional chaos
to conduct
the greatest
symphony to
awaken my
muses and start
living
drunk
on the passion
of writing

For what’s a writer
without emotional
instability?

Just a lonely soul
with an empty
pencil
and
a sober
mind
and that’s
death of the worst
kind

charles-bukowski

Charles Bukowski

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