I Wanted to Write a Book

A novel that would change the world
And make it think again, and set it free,
All between 450 pages,
Printed on recycled paper,
I would craft brutal fantasies
Based on the lives of my
Friends, if I had any, and
Family, if I listened long
Enough to steal their stories

And I sat on the thought for years,
Let myself be sick with desire
For my breakthrough
Without having to do any
Of the work

Instead I will set my steps on the sidewalk
Of my choosing
And write my novel with my days

Because as I grow older my focus grows soft,
And I cannot be bothered to write
When there is life to be lived.

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