She wrote her silent secrets
She wrote her loudest thoughts
She wrote her darkest fears
She wrote her brightest spots
the orderly conventional
the contested indecorous
expressing intangibles
 touching unfathomable
There were few who understood her madness
but she didn’t do it for the cosmos
she wrote for the innate monsters
the demons
the angels
the beacons
to mold to form to construct to survive
until one day she had nothing to write
that day..
she ceased to exist
and let the rocks close in…

Photo by Engin Akyurt from Pexels

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Whatever living means for you – writing, dancing, singing, working…keep doing it, keep going on, keep moving, keep chugging along.

In response to Christine’s prompt https://wordpress.com/read/blogs/130149259/posts/12123

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