Poetry, short shtories, novels

I write as a release, as a love

I write like it's my personal gospel

Because it's my reality I'm aiming to be free of


My mind is it's own cinema, a library

Thousands of stories bouncing off my skull

Words, oxymorons, metaphors anxious to leave like it's Friday

Until all the literary language I hear mixes into one soft lull


I want to appeal to myself, mostly

I want to become literature, my body made of language

My blood made of phrases, heart made of poetry

Knights and dragons, fantasy and sci fi, acting like a bandage


So to answer your question,

And I will do so bluntly

I will write to quell my depression

Because when I write, the light shines through abruptly


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