soul of all idiotic wit

i’ve lived through my brevity
sweet spontaneity
clawing and spitting for a second less, living
“you must make it brief, or you’ll never return here!”
i’d never return, so i’ve nothing to fear.
i stand amongst papers, pristine and untouched
and wondering, “how have i written so much?”
to myself, making brief of the horrors and such.
to myself, i love brevity, i’m keeping in touch.

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Alright bestie. This is just about how I struggle to write poems that are long and that I like..