Tappity-tap

Nodding off to the tappity-tap, bobbing with a string-played song, I shake off my chains. The chains that make my stomach hurt, my head buzz, and my heart quaver at what the future could hold. I don't want to give in give up control to the sticky way fear holds tight to me. Hissing, writhing, …

My Love

Each shrine of my art is dedicated to the muse which is you. And each rung of my dreams spools and hinges on your existence. I only started to breathe real air when you stood still to breathe next to me-- perhaps the first to just stand there doing nothing, saying nothing, but just there …