It’s nothing.

I’ve got nothing. The editor is open right in front of my eyes and I stare at the screen, eyes tired and leaky or maybe it’s just the existential dread making it’s way out.

Love is in the air, sex is everywhere and both are overrated. There’s no point in writing about them. Maybe I should start writing a fairy tale that justifies sexual abuse in the name of magic, luck and love and call it destiny. Angels don’t have wings, devils don’t have horns; neither exist.

I smell fart. Is this love? Why, you ask? Because it’s in the air. Nevermind. Whatever. Fuck. Shit.

Ugh. I got nothing.

105 thoughts on “It’s nothing.”

  1. 🤣🤣🤣idk why … But I still like fairy tales… Perhaps becoz it helped when I was a little girl… Afraid of nightmares… A butcher, a kidnapper, and all such shit! .. but I always saw some character from the fairy tales who rescued me!😅
    Perhaps you should write a fairy tale! 😄

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Admit that this ol’ romantic is also becoming more and more cynical up in here. Now I might have to publish my fart poem, just because of this. Nice one nephie! 💯💨👌

    Liked by 1 person

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