“What is your process?”
“Are you sure you wanna know?”
“Yeah, actually.”
“I sit down to write,
And every time like clockwork,
they come flooding in.
Four old, dead writers
Whispering, screaming, at me
speaking their own thoughts;
And I can’t stop them
They have their own agendas
dissatisfied pricks,
So instead, I breathe,
Give them the parameters
and watch them make art.
my talent is null,
truly, it’s all their doing,
I am just a door.”
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