i need to write, in order to be alive
and by that, i don't mean that i feel a deep and inescapable urge to write.
on the contrary, i often struggle to motivate myself
but when i'm not writing, everything in our life is dull, messy
we consume heavily, and create little
replacing our thoughts with a barrage of media
and in that unfettered, unrestrained hedonism,
i cease to be
dreamworld photographer
- it, she, they
and the mirror
not her waking,
aching body showed,
but endless forms,
from feathered fractal
edges spilling out
a snowstorm
swirling silent
in her eyes
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