deepundergroundpoetry.com
Write away
Writing always peaks at your lows
After all,
Who’s got time to be a writer
When you’re soaring through a sky of abandon
And all the words you ever want to say
Are impulsive, joyous, passionate, fleeting,
Falling from your lips faster than you can taste them
Like electric particles on the wind
Moments whispering into thin air
Without the permanence of paper
They needn’t stay in a place to be read back
Because you’re living the story of your dreams
Right here, right now
And you haven’t got the sick kick
Of breaking your own heart in the name of art
So how did you write all of this?
After all,
Who’s got time to be a writer
When you’re soaring through a sky of abandon
And all the words you ever want to say
Are impulsive, joyous, passionate, fleeting,
Falling from your lips faster than you can taste them
Like electric particles on the wind
Moments whispering into thin air
Without the permanence of paper
They needn’t stay in a place to be read back
Because you’re living the story of your dreams
Right here, right now
And you haven’t got the sick kick
Of breaking your own heart in the name of art
So how did you write all of this?
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