Draw a line down the middle of my face and then I can tell you where ending is the beginning and the beginning is a start and then I can have a start.
I skip childishly between a thug and being a butterfly. But the butterfly can cut you too if you get too near. I’m the cat that sits on your lap, I’m the cat that turns and bites your head off. Don’t think I can’t scratch you and love you at the same time.
Drawing a life out of inks of black has an ecstasy that only we can see; In my dreams and in my bed where life does not exist. Things existing somehow were not good enough. I watch myself from the outside. I’ve put away my life neatly into compartmental draws stuffed safely away where no one can see them. I made a coat out of my own skin this morning, someone else can wear it now.
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