I used to like parties more, but now I'd rather stay at home and just chill...
It starts with the bagpipes.
The crumbs I stole were not worth the decades I lost in prison,
Old salty dogs, miles of ocean
I don’t know remember exactly when and how it started. Perhaps it never had a beginning, but had always been a part of my soul. Books had captured my attention since infancy, and stories lived on my tongue from the moment I could string a sentence together. The exact day I began jotting down poems in my school notebooks doesn’t matter. I was only releasing the steady current of words from my mind and watching them trail across the paper as they came to life.
Came upon an Indian layin'
He held time in his own hand,
What we never said kept us awake through solemn nights
Mysterious paintings of unknown origin
My dearest Vincent, what did you mean by every flower?