The Clown

He stands still, motionless just staring, never blinking. The bright colors of his pants, intended to be inviting, mix like cotton candy colored vomit. His smile is menacing, suggesting unnatural thoughts. Happiness has never looked so terrifying. His white gloves wrap around every corner. In the darkness they are all you can see, strangling the... Continue Reading →

Who, then, is the artist?Β 

Mold me like ceramics fingertips carving into cold clay. Anything is possible. Mold me like a story  words creating the view my eyes see. Highlighting the blues  and forgetting the rays of sunlight. Mold me like an opinion an experience dictating choices, I haven't made yet. Sweet wisdom passed down from generation to generation. Mold... Continue Reading →

So, tell me. What’s your cyclical muse?

Fictional characters have it so easy somebody writes their future. But hell I've been writing my life with a permanent marker so what's stopping me from changing the story, I'm the author. I'm constantly revising, changing, and rethinking. It's circular. The pain is escaping through the writing. Pain is a frame of mind Writing is... Continue Reading →

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