A pile of wordsand each spoken another collected as the heap began to swayas a body tilted above itlifting a foot and kicking. The words flew spreading about filling the ground with rotted junk and the body sighed in disgust littering more words. Should I pick this upor leave it?It isn’t only my messit wasContinue reading “A pile of words.”
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 