When I can’t sleep.
Can’t dream.
I write.
Pouring pieces of myself,
Into words.
Etching spells upon reality,
By carving my soul into the very Zeitgeist.
This immortality,
Comes from art.
Chasing Shakespeare,
Then Bradburne,
One scrawling line at a time.
These epitaphs remain.
These Epitaphs Remain.
