Writing as much as I can. In journal. In here. In a few other places too. I haven’t done poetry in quite some time. I do not feel the need to write poems anymore. It’s as simple as that. I love prose. I love it very much. Prose lets me explore so much. It’s a wonderful feeling to write paragraphs and paragraphs of nonsense. Luckily, my speciality is in writing nonsense. And my lines are ruthless. My pages banished from society. My hands cut and bruised. My knees dislocated. Red spit of blood in my mouth. In my lines, there can be no win for me. In fact, even outside my lines, there’s not much of a win for me. I am a fighter, of course. I can fight anything. But I am not a winner. There’s no win for me here or anywhere.
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