I Live In My Writing

I live in my writing,

an odd place to be,

but you’d be there, too,

if you see what I see.

 

I live in my writing,

and lose track of time,

at least in this world,

but, to me, that’s fine.

 

I live in my writing,

enjoying the ambiance of life,

it’s an unlimited existence,

and has far less strife.

 

I live in my writing,

and some are dismayed,

so am I, really,

because I never get paid.

 

I live in my writing,

it’s a solitary existence,

and maybe existential,

but at least it’s consistent.

 

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