For I am a peddler of words lost in space and time filling in gaps of insignificance to outright the inconceivable.

When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen. But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any way you can. ~Samuel Lover, Handy Andy, 1842

Monday, August 12, 2013

224/365

It is only when I'm writing that I find myself in perfect solace 
of being totally insane and at the same time, in control of the universe.

***

Inspiration.

For I am wordless
as I am sleep-deprived during the night.

Write I say, strive I must
to feed this eternal literary hunger.

This will never be over
nor will it ever be enough.

***



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