No name yet
This raging tempest inside, this feeling I yearn for words to describe.
What more do I need, to reveal the demon as it is.
Cliches are the worst pits, there's nothing left to savage in their whored deeps.
The dictionary might be a world of tools, but the demon makes me too weak to move.
This catch-22 may cower, and ease the ink to flow like hot butter.
Or it might grow, and emerge as a writer's worse foe;
the stones in the ink's throat;
the anchor to an eager boat;
the block between will and soul.
When the block is torn, and the words as though unbidden, come.
The picture is then perfect, the reader is then awed.
'What great use of metaphors'.
In other words, the picture was greatly photoshopped,
the tools you racked to find, were to create some exaggerated imitation.
The painstaking description and the string of words,
were all just waters of fiction pouring from a dammed mind.
One with no other motive but to write to the satiety of the reader's eyes.
Even though they see through your loopholes and still know that it's not just a show.
What can they do?
They all have their demons too.
Posted Feb 25, 2021, 12:01 AM UTC · edited