no; don’t write a thing!
to imagine my what hands
could type now is a horror
kicked hell out of here—

so admirable; should I not
be allowed near candles &
ovens, ever again, or keys.
strung along by this witch

craft picked up to compose
childish semen; for now to
picture what might I write is
worse than I can’t it life

so don’t write a thing—I
is better than my he( is a shadow
of my me) & now I be, out
there, staring into off madness.

after No: don’t say a thing! by Fernando Pessoa