That last one took more out of me than I would have liked.
I should have known, I was terrified of it from the start—from the moment I saw the thought begin to geminate—the perfect white seed vibrated a little as its coat peeled off—how could you look away from that? Even being terrified to watch it grow. And then it dug in roots.
And that lead to nightmares and a refusal to get out of bed until the after images went away. Eventually I was able to shrug off both hope and despair and muddle myself some coffee. Only to surrender to blankness which will eternally be my craft.
You, I’m telling you Poet, I am telling you Writer, I am telling you Naive and Innocent, that this is what you must go through to Be.