Selling out

A dance with time

I was tired. Now, I know that that’s the worst way to start a story, but I was fucking exhausted. I had spent eight years of my life writing poetry on blogging platforms. I had improved with each piece; had done the reading and the research; had worked through writer’s block, and had done everything possible to make a living out of art. But I had miserably failed. There I was, lying on my cot, wondering where I had gone wrong.

I had a blog with twenty followers. Twenty fucking followers after eight years of agony! They say that insanity is doing the same thing on repeat and expecting a different result, and by that definition, I was a lunatic. I had two choices: Quitting blogging or changing the content of my blogs. I decided to give it one more try (being the madman I was) and started stalking the…

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