D10JAN


Butter fingers, muddy thoughts,
In existential chaos, I rot.

Where to be, what to do,
I know, I do – not.

But in all honesty, have been here,
And in all of it, done that too.

Done enough, lived stories,
And yet write, I do – not.





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Born to two writers, I write for me.
I exist, to explore.
I explore, to exist.

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