Friday, 13 March 2015

self dissolution

writing is like
putting a gun to your forehead
and bleeding words
from the wound.
there’s something beautiful about
the tremor and the pressure
whispering beneath your neck ;
something about collapsing
unraveling
unbecoming
right before
the touch of the bullet.

how can emotion be so savage
that you must pour your blood and bones
into pages ?

they never say about writers
that they create
as much as they destroy.

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