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allan-jain-bonderPoems
i used to write the ink that dripped from my quill formed paisley and damask on the page syllables rose from parchment and became tangible now its just chicken scratch illegible drivel carved into chalkboards with dull knives footnotes to a glorious view i use to draw, paint, tag whimsical illustrations or swirly oils on objects both dedicated and found a distinct style all my own but now it's all devolved mediumless and barren attempts glaring at a skill long left me clutching and shivering with a brush i used to hike i would traverse a plane or a thicket at altitude with all teeth showing looking for a place to set up camp but now i just pace wearing a rut between the front and back door studying a tired environment peering out the windows
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Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
I used to write.
i used to write the ink that dripped from my quill formed paisley and damask on the page syllables rose from parchment and became tangible now its just chicken scratch illegible drivel carved into chalkboards with dull knives footnotes to a glorious view i use to draw, paint, tag whimsical illustrations or swirly oils on objects both dedicated and found a distinct style all my own but now it's all devolved mediumless and barren attempts glaring at a skill long left me clutching and shivering with a brush i used to hike i would traverse a plane or a thicket at altitude with all teeth showing looking for a place to set up camp but now i just pace wearing a rut between the front and back door studying a tired environment peering out the windows
*** gas or....whats the other thing?
allan-jain-bonder
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allan-jain-bonder
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
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