So me...except with writing instead of art

Substitute writing for art and this is basically me…

click the picture to enlarge there is more to it…


That’s like…my life.

A therapist once called it “a weird kind of perfectionism” ha.


Writers block. Know it well. The word muse comes mind and frankly my best writing is about my pain, confusion, suffering and torment about my relationship with my muses. eg…


Why do I do this to myself? I search for imperfections
Each and every day, Seas of life behind the smiles
Searching for signs, that’s beyond my grasp
Am I really growing? Am I really healing?
Try to clasp but the oversight is the same, I loathe myself each time
Death follows or it’s the same, such remoteness
We are the same, lost cores each found
I know this is wrong, something has to give
Just how’s this going to end? Or will it remain?
Tomorrow is a new day, I know how it begins
It’s always been the same, my psyche won’t let up
Tried to run, But I had to know
Regret it now, As I all ready recognized it
So is this a mistake? Is this reality?
What happens now? I know the destination
Separation at one point in time…


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