I can't write. Nothing. My inner editors are crowding out my poems. They stand around poking fun and casting stones at every single word that I put down. It's loud. And it's driving me crazy. I don't know how to shut them off. I've considered an exorcism. I cast them out into the bodies of goldfish, swimming aimlessly, sucking in water, no noise except for the trickling of a filter in the background.
But they come back. They always come back.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
That's pretty good imagery for somebody who can't write.
thanks. and beer+blog=misspellings.
which i fixed. yikes.
Post a Comment