painful spurt

the nudge of a stinging, persistent urge. to conclude, the loss of my voice. succumbed to the running, stream of white noise. i grew into life, with a wild fire churning, in my belly; hungry for expression. brewing creativity, was challenging amidst the turning of tables and handling of tools, ill fitting for the shape of my palm. one is not simply, pushed with intention into a circumstance too dire, or hopeful. rather, it is laid upon the bestowed by a manner; simultaneously brash and careful.

 

 

 

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