Wednesday, 14 January 2009
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Lacking any real inspiration; this is what I'm forced to swallow.
These moments inbetween,
When the lines are blurred,
These moments are the hardest to survive;
I've got no shoulder to lean upon,
No sympathetic ear to listen to;
So I debate between habit and my age-old crutch-
Which shall reign victorious this time?
Which old friend do I turn to when this infection's grown sore?
To the drink that numbs my heart and mind,
Or the written words that soothe the restless animal inside?. . .
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Comments (4)
the drink is best. words only persuade, they never truly soothe. is this on the spot?
@a_postmodern_nobody - Yes, most of my poems, mainly the short and [bitter] sweet ones occur on the spot. If its six lines or less, I wrote it in a matter of seconds. Any longer than that and it could take me anywhere from half an hour to 2 hours, if I'm unlucky even longer than that. Those are the poems that get forgotten eventually though and are rotting on my C drive somewhere at this very moment...
@MyHomeIsWriting - most of my posts are on the spot, well, the spot being at most a half hour. if it takes more, i give up. and most are lubed with a bit of drink.
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