The Scribe's Prescription

Why do you write?

Because I feel pure Love - pouring from my fingertips;

Etching the lines and swirling an architecture of my irritatingly indecisive, incandescent, hellish mind.

It bides my time, binds by belligerent cries, and confides and purges it into prose.

I suppose, it mustn’t make much sense to some.

Do I stop? Well, I don’t wish to stay shtum.

Swashes, swatches, colours, scratches - it all tickles the itch;

Where most often I feel, in my brain, there’s a glitch.


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