I’m constricted To these self-inflicted Restrictions, I say I’m writing romance, But I really love science-fiction. I guess I’m chasing paychecks, Or the dream thereof, And I’m worried if I trust my heart, will I make the right decision?

Author’s Fate

  Hours and hours and hours pass by, The words on this page are erased and denied, I rip through each sentence, intending to refine, But the endgame is hatred: fatal and blind. I’m slaved to my words, cemented and paved to habits and urge, I’m claimless like faith that’s been shamed by its church, …

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