I lack the inherent artistry of ability that is so apparent in other authors.
They sketch swan songs of sweet sorrow. They preach humming bird wisdom in tight, efficient packages. They sing praises of diamond dust to their dutifully devoted.
My compositions are poorly stitched caricatures. Oafish gentle giants. Built from excess of ideas and pounded into sloppy semblance of shape. I suspect the only redeeming features are their cores of heart-sharped silver. Shot-through with my golden veins of good intent.
8:50 p.m. - 2015-03-23
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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