And sometimes the inspiration comes from old lines in the written poems of my heart ( Read more... )

There is magic within your slender fingers. The tips reach out so slowly, almost holy, and I start to shiver. What exists within me that could lure you from your lair? Would it be my tender, willing heart? Perhaps my anger turned white-hot boiling rage at the way he left you marked? Would it be that your fingers are more than just an avenue to play ( Read more... )

And sometimes the painting writes itself while the story, well, it is plush and powerful, but the colors lack the subtle stroke of a skilled painter, as they swash on heavy and so clumsy, ah, so it ends.. so it begins ( Read more... )

So she asked me almost immediately when she found out that I was a writer. I don’t know if she was trying to hide her enthusiasm or not. Either way she did a terrible job. She asked me, “What is the difference, then? What is the difference between a poem and a book ( Read more... )

And sometimes the inspiration comes from a jumbled mess of what is and what is not the truth in the middle ( Read more... )

And sometimes the inspiration comes from the world I left, and the world I sometimes relive ( Read more... )

"The ClockTower ( Read more... )

And sometimes the inspiration comes from sweat-soaked sheets from night terrors of a future sans you, when all you really need is the truth...

"The RearviewFinally figured out today ( Read more... )

She smells of vanilla scented oils. Her golden locks of hair blowing gently in the much needed breeze. And she makes me think of lilacs. Lilacs in the summertime. Oh, and she makes me wonder ( Read more... )

And sometimes the inspiration comes from the moments you hold and the ones you never make..

"BelieveIt's a rumbling night kind of sky ( Read more... )