I am an obese hairy giant of a man who thinks so much that sometimes i forget that life is still going on. I have written numerous poems that if published would immediately render me unemployable. I live on the edge of society so that normal people can look on in horror without having to get too close. Creativity lights me up and i once killed a pigeon with a brick (After consultation with a vet).
My daughter’s face appearing in charcoal, her sunshine smile bursting from the black. Creativity soothes me like a drug, anticipating the heartfelt thanks I do not deserve. I will seem special, a façade, a falsehood, a temporary reprieve. The heightened
I will sit or lay. Not in sadness or tears, you don’t understand. I’m in-between everything. That time I starred at that horse. I wanted to be it so much. Its pensive eyes knew I was not worth a glance.
I’ve ruined the knife set apparently, there were five and now there are four. ‘It’s not my knife set to diminish’, no ones mentioned the stain on the floor! Perhaps because I used bin bags, made an effort for which