Here’s something I wrote a while ago.. I don’t wanna bore anyone with the full thing so here’s a few stanzas :

The painter yearns for their reference.

Such an indisputable fact set in tomb.

Much like I, the aimless poet.

For what are the sonnets, if not for the muse?

Though the hand neatly knitted onto the arm I possess burns and aches in vain of literature—such a weak soul akin to my very own—cannot suppress the urge to write in the ink I have dipped my legacy into.

The essence of motives and reason tucked deep beneath my mind. -

(I write long poems so that’s why I’m only sharing a snippet ummm OH ALSO I wrote this months ago so it’s sorta old but that’s okay, right chat? Right?)