Writer's Workshop

I won't bite you - you'd like it too much. Seriously though, I love it Sophie!

I'm no critic, and I'm certainly no writer, but I too have a contribution.

Critique away - as long as it's not a total revamp, I'm cool with whatever.

Feeling isolated, I crawl into the recesses of my mind
Settling with a satisfied sigh into the comfortable territory that is self doubt,
I cannot help but recall the heart attacks that have unfolded in front of me.
They command my presence, yet I detract the truths that they claim to hold.


The illusion is neither mine nor yours, and is certainly not one that has been proven.
The blame lies stagnant within the deep recesses of our true selves.

Instinctually, I light a cigarette and the distraction allows me the luxury of anonymity -
if only for a moment, for without warning, my safe haven turns against me
I begin to ponder which vehicle escorted me here, and along what path did I blindly drive?
I wonder aloud that it can’t be safe to be so absently coherent.

Again, my mind wanders.

Życie długotrwałość jest świnią i my są całymi w tym …

The sub-standard “why are we here” conundrum doesn’t satisfy for the moment,
I move on to more present issues – the very ones I came here to avoid.
Waxing poetic with fallen trees does not a philosopher make. Am I crazy?
No, I decide, just loathsome and benign.

Truth is relative, but relatives do not always breed truth.
Ties are only as strong as that which binds them.