it’s never been the blank page
that i’ve been afraid of
there was no need
never shy of at least one word
one word written made two
made four
made sixteen
you get the prose
there were pages full of words
notebooks
lists
bags full of letters
all of those ideas
but hardly any of them finished
there were endless beginnings
no endings —

now it’s vice versa
too many ideas
very few beginnings
even more endings
how is that possible?

well, endings count twice
don’t you know?
because with every piece finished
your mind dies a little death
my mind already died this year
over two-hundred times
two-hundred suicides
if you think about it
i should be immune to death by now
and will continue to die
day by day
night by night
some deaths are sweater
others make my brain just dull
it’s when i need to write
and barely reach the finish line
i should be celebrating then
but i’m just empty then
the death i most enjoy
will be the one —

        that’s it
        the one
        that i become famous with.

        © Dominik Alexander / 2023