studying in a library on a rainy day

at times, as a writer, you're screwed 
if your words ramble without climax,
paralyzed into a marginal symptom
the main characteristic of your spirit
corresponds to a muse whose tariff is
billed in polyandry or polygamy's art
for you know, y'know so bloody well,
art never reacts to monogamy's coin,
and chic words' silhouette, cultivates

πŸ˜‰

mille fois

universe

Say

one that I want

ain't stopping

hold on

salut

on repeat

thousand love songs