Sisyphus and me
I started writing a new poem before 10 this morning. And five minutes ago, after working diligently on it for hours and having crafted six stanzas, I deleted all the work, leaving only the title on the page.
About the deleted stanzas:
They didn't suck.
There wasn't anything really wrong with them, exactly.
It just wasn't the poem it should be.
I'm going to go fix dinner now. And after dinner, I will start at the bottom of the hill again.
About the deleted stanzas:
They didn't suck.
There wasn't anything really wrong with them, exactly.
It just wasn't the poem it should be.
I'm going to go fix dinner now. And after dinner, I will start at the bottom of the hill again.