While I don’t mind the intricate and even missed details of the night, I know that it’s capable of anything and it’s riveting, but when you wake, it disappears. Like smoke lost to the wind: diffusion into the darkness. Into the beauty behind the psychosis.
In the night, I hear it, the calling of creativity.
In the night, I write to relieve the stress.
I’ll never walk away (hard to understand the pull)
In the night when thoughts come creeping
Ink stains, metaphors and similes drip like tears
I’ll never walk away (hard to understand the pull).
Be Kind and Share…