The starving writer is a myth.

Sure, he may forgo food and drink

to write down what needs to be said, but there are other things that feed him

that describe his emptiness

or fullness.

Life has a stranglehold on most people

it squeezes, until they can’t breathe, so writing is a way to breathe.

It isn’t enough, just to read other writers

One must enjoy life—that’s the same life that strangles most people.

Loving what kills you, is the same as loving your art.

It’s the same, as loving a woman.

Living too cautiously

will kill you, and it won’t feed you.

People will be happy to see you go

We don’t all sit down at dinner and smile

We are forced to eat things that don’t feed us

My mother gave me an apple yesterday, that looked as if it had been planted in the ground.

“It’s organic,” she said.

“There are lots of things that are organic, but I would never put them in my mouth. Manure, is a classic example.”

I ate it, anyway, and it was pretty good.

There is an emptiness, I can’t escape from—

it’s fed

and then I quickly go hungry again.

Nothing will fill it, permanently, despite what Believers claim

I don’t believe

it is meant to be filled.

People try,

with the worst things…

They kill themselves

choking on their own poison,

or the advertised cure

for a full stomach.