Poetic ballads and lined slip my mind as if late. How I do still often carry a poised and eloquent tone, the quality is since only supported by the aforementioned.
It's a blessing and curse.
Schools was a breeze, being able to conjure up a seemingly well crafted paper was simple, even with nothing to fuel the fire. I like to write, and I'll write with nothing, I'll write about nothing, as I write right now.
Word play had always seemed like my school of wizardry. Litermancy they might call it- if it were its own.
Full of curses just as blessings, a craft riddled with adversity often wins. Creativity is learned, not inherited, and teachers of such are often found on your own, for no one appoints those who challenge all.
Riddle me this, however, where ever does the learning stop, and teaching begin? Or rather, does it stop?
YOU ARE READING
depreciation they claim
Non-Fictiona collection of thoughts, assessments, dreams, observations, lusts, loves, unthinkables, oddities, morbidity, and dark yet comforting humor and perspective.
