I’m driven away by the serendipity of existence and bereavement.
You know when you get some ink on your casing
In memoriam of someone whose last breathe
Was taken by the cutter; your obstacles got broken
Where am I going with this again?
I’m amazed by how the light circles the dark in complicated patterns
Like the way our eyes incarcerates the spectrum,
That the rest of the world can’t even figure out.
I’m trying to express the way the cosmos comes collectively,
In arrangement to where it’s hypothetical to be.
Before bedlam follows and the ends battle and we lose seize of the tethers
Holding us toether.
I write a lot, which keeps me off the streets and out of trouble. There is always something to write about, always a new story to craft. Not writing, for me, is like trying to hold back a sneeze. Learning to write was the most powerful influence in my life. I can still remember the awe I felt when I realized I could put real words onto paper and tell out a story. From that first ‘a-ha’ moment I knew I wanted to write.
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