A Happy Artist

June 17, 2016 § Leave a comment

I have been stripped off my literary allowance;
a few months now, and the stink reeks off me
for showers a few and misery a scarcity.

it prevents me from virtuous poetry.
glee is a sin, and I need my misery,
but how, in this poverty?

dear friend,
I have promised honesty:
a crime –creative blasphemy.
chains of desperation hold me down,
so will you donate a part of yourself to me?

I need it to write a poem,
rip it out from my skull:
this instrument has been rusty
since bliss made my veins its home.

look me in the eyes, and hand me a memory
from your childhood; I can use any
preferably sprinkled with a tear or plenty.

please, don’t think I use you;
I commit no crime when I do,
it is only a reflection;
when you look into my eyes,
don’t you see yourself too?

Where Am I?

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