Brutal is the monster who doesn’t even know my name.
The man who devoured me.
Ate away my soul.
Day after day.
Only for loving you.
Ate Me Away
Perennial I Roam
My soul is reoccurring
Reborn every winter after death
New body, new depth, new life
Perennial I roam
Be a Better Ghost
I have a secret if you want it.
It may sound nice to have a soul that is filled with vanity. To love yourself the most of all.
Sounds like a happy existence.
Maybe.
But there are no awards for these selfish hearts in the afterlife.
Just emptiness.
Be a better ghost.
Not Talent, No.
Pieces of her writing and and words shove me through the page until I am there and have to blink away the vision, shocked that words could grab me so. Not talent, no. But the ability to craft a reader to a writer’s soul.
I actually wrote this about an author whose book I am currently reading. I am not done reading the book yet, but I hope the ending is as beautiful and as grasping as her writing. Let’s give a shoutout to the artists who inspire other artists and keep the magickal flow of passion dancing in us all.
Book I am reading: The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab
Paint a Feather
Paint a feather
into my soul
So I may fly
And be forever known
Starts with one
Until it grows into wings
Paint me a feather
So I may be free
Ink Circulates Magick
The ink circulates words like magick making them visible from my hand. The notebook now full, I lift the tome heavy with ink flowing through it word for word like blood flows through me. The volume recognizes a piece of myself transfered letter by letter. I smile at the magick as I tuck it away.
Freeing the Mind and Defining the Body 