eyes open. the curtain is drawn.

Writing is, both a comfortable bed with a favourite blanket on it, warmed by a lover and seemingly contoured to our body, while also not unlike modelling nude; it’s scary and I’m not sure I’m quite good enough for it. The intention is to allow insight into my inner most realities and trivialities, but nothing seems scarier than that first session. So here it is, and I hope to stay a while. Enjoy?

Close it all out

Ignoring what the chatter’s all about

Suppose they all have doubts

But be uncertain

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