There’s this thirst in me,
an unquenchable beast—
my beastly muse.

She comes out at night,
writing whims and quarry
under stars,
dark-kissed spelling.

She only calms
when all that is meant
empties,
and her unforgiving paw marks
scar the spaces
she tends to.

She’s not calm, nor quiet—
her soft furs
sparkle static,
divine erratic.

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