I head now to the gas station:
I’m staying up all night.
I’ll smoke, smoke, smoke and write until my eyes shut,
I’ll exhaust myself at my writing desk: A labor of Love!
I Lust for Words.
I Lust to smoke all night, then drag my ash cover body, hungry, but satisfied, to bed at eight in the morning, just to wake up an hour later, eat a turkey sandwich, drink a glass of tea and start proof reading.
I Lust to leave the house at noon, aggravated, wrestling words, walk two or three miles, then come back with a poem on my tongue, a short story burning in my brain, almost hurting my soul.
My soul aches for my lust.
I Lust for my Muse.
Sexy mess of dysfunctional beauty!
Untamable Gorgeous Monster Of Honesty and filth!
I Love You!
My soul burns for you.
Mind obsessed with you!
life, you’ve consumed!
Billions and Billions and Billions of words won’t do you justice!
Greater men than I have tried and failed to make something truly perfect and pure and beautifully true, but still we buy cigars and we buy coffee;
Still we stay up all night and write, write, write, write!
The fire that burns in my gut!
Why bother with me? I can’t satisfy you.