Forever stuck in limbo, the freedom suffocating.
Off put, off track, what started as a sonnet now a haiku.
Racked for lines, the page bleak, blotted blank.
My sense of form is anarchy, reckless, disheveled delicacy.
Forever stuck in limbo, the freedom suffocating.
Off put, off track, what started as a sonnet now a haiku.
Racked for lines, the page bleak, blotted blank.
My sense of form is anarchy, reckless, disheveled delicacy.
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