The writing process(Poem)

The words are
murdered, massacred, drowned
into abyss ruthlessly.

And occasionally discarded like
Adam and Eve,
and the netherworld stock.

And in the name of
editing,
scanning, skimming, shining,
the tone, tonality,
the personality, potentiality, possibility
was prostituted.

Writer,
abused, body-shamed,
altered, amended, and
whipped the words with wit,
and humiliation.

Editor,
crucified,
tortured the draft further
Under his custody,
by grammar, gaps and
geosynchronous grossness,
never to resurrect,
and called it
improvisation by
scratching and pencilling
the words down, and
brutally assassinating like a samurai.

Publisher,
moving ahead
shoots the words
with sawed-off shotgun,
wants black magic in words,
deciding what gets immortal,
never caring for
the skulls of procrastination,
belly of laziness,
the legs of doubts, fear,
I had to shatter, stab, break,
respectively as a writer.

Finally, the publisher
pinched the poem to find
some sensations.

I just hope he ends
this trauma.

O’ Leftovers,
I apologize and wish
someone will come along
and pull a poem out of you.

R.I.P——————————-




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