8-bit bitching


Jealous, what I hear I admire
lines like searing fire
words of gospel spit like
the devil’s choir,
Every single artist using
blood; crimson writers
I’m hungry for the same
pool of passion
passed on through
the pulls of desire,
So foolishly defiant
To the truth that
I’m an eight bit design
In this three dimensional
Universe of mine…

blah blah blah,
I’m truly cursed,
the pines of an artist
make for a puny verse
let me rectify with just a few more words:
Do your work,
no excuse,
no reserves.

Prompt: Blah



2 thoughts on “8-bit bitching

    1. The training montage of writers would consist of coffee tastings, reading, browsing aimlessly on the internet for hours, and getting a good stretch in for your backspace-button finger. Mine is my right ring finger, which I guess wouldn’t be called a ring finger so… ironically it doesn’t have a name? God backspaced it, call it fate.

      Liked by 1 person

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