Dead Writers

“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.”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s