void history

Once upon a time, I wrote beautifully.
This muse has left me so tired. The ones before too,
all of them
Dulcineas,
Fetishization of gender,
performance.
Now, fuck it.
I travel my subconscious alone,
Seeing glimpses of what could be in the dark but never clearly,
Catching the off-light of emeralds deep underground,
Always missing them by inches.

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