I have helpers, every shape and design.
Silence, ringing in my ears,
Thrusting my ideas from the midst to the forefront
To drown out the sound, the blare of its dumb trumpet.
This brown demon I pour down my throat.
Ripping at my insides, pounding at my organs.
All for the outcome. The top of the valley.
Everlasting validation. Eternal affection.
No rest will kiss my darkened eyes.
The Night, whispers inspiration
Through foggy skies and hanging limbs of nature.
The lines visible by the light of the moon.
They come to me and offer their support.
They, the committee for the frustrated and struggling.
They advise me often, the quality is relative.
I have helpers, every shape, and they are mine.
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