Your hands, do many things. they write, create, touch, caress, move, make, hold, save and help, But I implore you,not to let another man's blood stain your hands. And unleash the wretched in you.
The killing of one human is equivalent to killing all human
in white paper scenery, the mind is ink so flood pages with your sparkling words touch glittering minds and hearts endlessly traverse and explore and ruminate
let words contain truth or imagined fantasy bitterness or suffering opulence or soul decay
and let rawness seep out from the silver-jeweled elixir of experience and imagination,
because words are a ripe and fertile ground for deep and personal expression: and will always, and forever, be.