Gorr

Can I sing? No

Can I dance? No

Can I draw? No

Can I write? Most times yes

On most days it’s my superimposition of all that’s fiction and literary to you my dearly beloved

Today is no most day however,

On days like these, it’s anything but fiction

If I had to put a label on it, it’s more of an escape

An escape from life the master and all its not-so-compassionate emissaries

Guns and swords can’t fight this battle so I load my pen, again

They have me surrounded in more darkness than I can envision, obviously

It’s a bottomless abyss of despair followed by another bottomless abyss of despair,

To what end? I don’t know

As I edge nearer and nearer to guaranteed eternal damnation the centerpiece of my armor slowly but surely runs out of ink

It stands to reason that I don’t have to wait till it’s so clouded I can barely see the light before going to war with my demons, or against them but this is not my first rodeo – and it certainly won’t be the last.

Can you keep up?

_storyteller.

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