Writing frees me, yet chains me to Its command. Sending my mind racing and mouth salivating with urgency; And when I reach out, the words are torn from me, like a beast whose treat was ripped from its’ jowl.
Each eraser mark, a tug on the chain.
Punches and abuse, until my mind is fire.
Then, Writing takes me into It’s arms, like a soft breeze, and holds me. Shows me what to write. Guiding my sentences and words.
All the while, I hear it.
The soft metallic clink of the chain, in which Writing confines me.
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