suddenly, i'm a painter. the blank walls are emptier than they were before, begging to be ladened in swoops of red and flicks of black. my hands grasp around the brush that i never held, dips into the pallet that i never touched. suddenly the world is a watercolor, water pouring down and melting away the sights that my eyes remembered and the sounds that my ears could never forget. suddenly, nothing was permanent. suddenly, neither was i.
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Open To Interpretation
PoetryThis is a collection of some of my old poems, short stories, and other writing that I created a few years ago, while I was going through a really rough patch in my life. I wanted to publish it back then, but this is the best that I can do for now. E...
