Is the solitude of a writer,

Not so much

A gift,

As

It is a curse?

You may talk of a storyteller,

With a ghost touch

Of perfumed verse,

The tastiest ketchup kitsch.

But it is plain

That  you are a twitch streamer,

Who needs to be

More professional,

In

Who

You need

To be.

Or change hobbies,

For fear

Of losing

What's real,

Like a lifetime spent in the park

In one afternoon.

Is the illusion of the purse

Worth

The fee?