My pen won’t be sated by blood pumped by the heart of another. The best tales are filled by laughter, wails, pleasure and agonies birthed out of flesh and spirits that lived them. You can’t suffer my hurts for me, I won’t weep your tears for you. But we can carve our feels into each other’s bones, and share with the world until all see how different our hates and loves are not.
I write crimson words
full of dark moons and tamed screams,
you should write your own.
I want you to art with me…
in colors that soothe your soul.
for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.