you speak to prove to yourself that you are alive
you stick around to prove it's true
...
I made some colors
and I'm going to make some more colors
and then I will break them all up together
and build a color wall
...
A Poem
you speak to prove to yourself that you are alive
you stick around to prove it's true
the phone that rings
the itch that must be scratched
the birds outside the open window
you sit inside
with your weapon of choice
the perfection of your soul answers the call
you realize your choice
and you write it down