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The clean paper

seduces me; beckoning the


that will not come.

High hopes and


Here I am,

salivating at the thought of

expression with

no means through which

to express myself.

This lust for words

This self-consuming passion

This anger for what is not

This hunger that eats at my being

This curse of unintelligible rambling

And here you are!

Calling for my words,

those nonexistent entities

that live too far

from my grasp,

Tempting me with

empty lines

and promises of eloquence.

I yield only hollow skeletons

Of ideas

That perish

In the fervor.



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