The weekend was not long enough. They never are, are they? I’ve been stirred by darkness lately, like a wound needing to be opened again to let something poisonous out. The exception is, the poison comes from me – least, it feels like it.
Like wondering if I’ll ever get jump started. It’s like a wall having to be pushed until it finally crumbles… except this wall is high and concrete and black and big and a footprint inside my body. Once I start, all I want to do is sleep. Once I sleep, all I want to do is write.
Bleech. I know it. You know it. So you say, like I do, just get on with it? So, I think I will. Next post, something to read – for you, not me. It will be something already bled out for me. Let me know if you find it exquisite… or simply a corpse.