writing
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what must be.
should i sit to ponder of life or must i truly walk it’s path unknowingly, fear leads thoughts find circles and make their way back towards the first question the chicken or the egg does god exist because of me? did i ponder it into existence, suiting it to my liking a creatix, unimaginative such…
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anaklusmos
my hands yearn for a pen the matters of the heart are all in the mind twice now have i reached for explanations faltering, stumbling at its magnitude why do i i can never finish the question a prisoner of thought must i act, i don’t know how my hands bleed for this pen
the intricacies of idalina 