Revenge: it's a dream of flames fueled by scorched remains that are lit to a torch and brought back upon the one who burned you.
Like forearm veins, my interests spread in different directions and eventually led to the hands, to writing.
Caged: Memoirs of a Cage-Fighting Poet
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Like forearm veins, my interests spread in different directions and eventually led to the hands, to writing.
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I have sat here at my desk, day after day, night after night, a blank sheet of paper before me, unable to lift my pen, trembling and weeping too.
This isn__ how things were supposed to happen. I was supposed to be me. Not this.