Driven To It

I’m broken.

Truly empty and poured out.

And now, quite sick.

The stress has been stupid.

I’m pushing back.

Poets make poor chaperones.

Exceptionally, so.

I’m forced to write it out.

I don’t know how much will see the light of day here, but there has to be an outlet.

In order to keep us all out of the doghouse.

 

 

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