dejavu

i'm a fuckin' writer
writing shits be my need
i breathe words & taste thoughts..
to survive 'nutter day...
at what my past beep.
everythin' turned to memory
ev'n the age prime,
what's left behind is enigma
with bitter truth in bitten life
so penning down real words
& keep raping peeled pages be counted
in momentary pleasure overnight...
the least for a while
perhaps,
long lasting satisfaction of heart i want
but it's seldom found...
or merely astound to the scrunity of fuckin' writer's life.