I write. That's what I am. I have sometimes written as many as twelve poems in a day, in a flurry of mad, frightening,hyper-kinetic activity, mostly on small sheets of white scrap paper. I cannot say I always write for pleasure, although I do always get...something from it. I can't imagine NOT writing. Writers block is my own personal vision of Hell, and I've been there before.
I'm driven by an engine of dark madness that DEMANDS I write, that compels me to feed it's vast and unsatisfied hunger. And I...obey, because I'm uniquely compensated.

That world out there is not mine; and, shall never be. I'm thinking many of you feel the same way. My nightmares seem more real than my waking life ever was.

That's the black, and white. Take up your color-box and follow me if you wish.

TheRaincrow's Works

Poetry (Depressed)	2017-10-13	Dreaming with angels
Poetry (Fantasy)	2017-09-25	Kin of mine

Share/Save This Poet