That night, as I laid bed, stories running through my mind, with a groan and creak, I lifted my head, then I understood, and I cried
I'll gather them all in a crumpled pile and watch as they writhe and convulse beneath the flame. Suddenly, they are gone. It's tragic that I can't do the same.
How mercifully poignant//That I should see my reflection in a puddle on the sidewalk//Shoulders bare with the clear sky above me,//Whistling the wind's latest bequest.
I try not to be a Debbie Downer too much, but this site often ends up being my mind-dump, word vomit therapy. Yesterday, I was in the worst of sorts, but remembered that great writers become great by writing constantly, so I wrote two posts but did not publish them because they were so sad/disheartening/not... Continue Reading →
I find the psychology of driving to be very interesting...