Days like this make me wish I could paint. Violent, defined brushstrokes and splatters. Probably a lot of black. DEFINITELY a lot of black.
Or if I could sculpt it would be sullen. And lumpy.
“Squat Anger”….I could call it.
To try and write it out of my system would only result in a verse reading something like;
“dark. dark and mad. angry. I’d like to thump you on the head. go away…”
Catchy? nyah. I didn’t really think so.
A poets soul is reflected in their writing……so they say.
(side note – who is they? no clue)
But for right now, I am not going anywhere near that reflection. *shudder* Because I think it would be scary…..