On Publication

I can't tell you where it changed.
One day I knocked and the door was opened.

I had lost everything in my life maybe that is where the fear left me.

And I bared the blood that bled upon this page.
It was in her leaving.

It was in my health's ever-steady decline.
Time is running out and I have no words to waste.

When in hell we create the art that is to be our escape.

I am a flawed mess beyond comprehension, but I am great writer and I know this without arrogance.

No heart has fallen just the pain that bares the page.

One day it will find you and that day you will see it all for what it truly is.

Soft edges gentle curves are meant for portraits not words one must bare some soul and scar tissue to ever truly connect.

No one may know acceptance without first the truths we must bare with rejection.

The door opened I didn't question I simply walked in before they realized it was a mistake.