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I am Not a Writer
Mouse
3 May 2005
I know that I invent these words, but it feels like they invent me. They spill around in my head till they feel just right and then they hound me to be let out. The heroine fights for paper, the lovers trouble my pulse for a few verses, the cloud- lit perfectly in the sky- floats in my mind waiting for the perfect description. It's my mind that catches them, but it feels as though they walk in on their own.
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