five minutes in heaven

sitting here at lamp light

im wondering what im writing and why im trying

why even try to put words to intangible things

conceited belief that what i have to say is relatable or new

looking for writing contests

when the contest is only with the self

and embarrased to even write a line like that

but i learned in art class not to erase but to

be more concerned with the INITIAL

but whats the point of art class when this is not something that can be TAUGHT

its just experiences, right?

didn't hemingway teach us that? it is pretentious to bring up

sad, dead authors that died for their work when

im sitting here by horse-lamp, writing things nobody will read

drinking things to give me the boldness i need to commit things

to words that are only half-felt...