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What is it about the moon
That instigates creativity
That enhances madness
That makes me need to write

Poetry is my drug
I enter withdrawal
On not writing
On Not creating

That desperate need
That reason of living
That craze of expression
That need to leave behind

It’s how my mind breathes
It’s how my soul sings
It’s how my body lives
It’s my parasitic host

The moon becons this addiction
Instigates my need
Manipulates my want
With its predatory charm

And I
Follow blindly willingly soulfully
Like a moth to a flame
But in control and never by exigency!

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