Slow as a neighbour’s plant vindictive, timid. Slow as a ripple static hush.
An oblong wax melting away, slow, slow as raindrop stuck on a tree
As a splash of colour unable to blend a monologue twirling inside my stomach a song so old with cough drops all around the drawers
dying slow dying
repetitive insipid Once a melody now only an arm now only a forehead nothing at all
A nightmare in blue It knows nothing now only a flat desperation of air The feet knows the crevices of life. Look carefully.. there! A small dot and a fanned breath of a leaf.
I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...
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