Fut-ure
There are times
When I swear,
I cannot go on.
As my tear stained eyes
Become blurry,
My breaths ragged,
Hands trembling.
I think of all the ways
I could possibly disappear,
But there is something
That keeps me alive;
A reason why I still breathe.
I think of the future
all its doubts and uncertainties,
But still I find hope.
There have been many
starving writers before me
And more to come.
Their stomachs may have been empty
Their bodies weakening,
But their souls were screaming
To be freed.
They were a bunch
Of madmen and madwomen
Who refused to surrender
To their human bodies.
They kept starving, but their
Hearts clung to the images
Of their writings.
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