A sickness insideconfined to a couch listening to the tunesof the birds chirping about and the laughterof others at playsinking deeper within the couch a bite upon the cheekand tears they drip as the little creature struggles to speak begging to be set freeanother nibbleand the jailer won’t budgefor the sickness is to greata singleContinue reading “Confined to a couch.”
I’m prone to bouts of anger, short tempered, the overly sensitive type. Writing is a way to make sense of it all. While art is a way in which I can escape the thoughts that haunt me shutting off conscious thought and allowing my hands to guide me.
Temperamentally Tina 