Can an actual soul yearn for sunlight? There is a song lyric that I always identified with. My words are snowflakes, meaningless and melting. And it has never been more true.
Words pour out of me constantly, falling from my mouth and pen, tapped into my keyboard. I can picture them all in a confused and jumbled pile, shrieking that I betrayed them with my lack of care, for not polishing and selecting them gingerly. Instead they are flung out of me with abandon and tinged with a slight touch of insanity.
Madness used to be considered a curse, laid on the unforgiven for unknown sins.
I may be an unbalanced and unfinished person, but...
My secretions are beautiful.
I do not speak softly, nor am I gentle.
I am passionate beyond belief, to an inner level that frightens me at times.
I hide behind my brashness.
I am secretive.
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