Rhymes

all work, no play

How does the flipping farm look like?
I’ve never been to one in my life
Sitting and waiting for inspiration to strike
While my mind is in flux and strife

I should be sitting in chair now
Sipping hot glühwein with sis
Listening to her stories; going wow
About her first real french kiss

She said, “write from your heart”
Whatever your soul strives for
Today I don’t feel like writing smut
Don’t want to make writing a bore

I need to push, to finish my art
To sell it. Move on to the next
Do I? Would it really be smart
To spill my blood in the text?

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