I was asked once what the meaning of writing was. What was the underlying theory behind my writings.
I said, my writing is an extension of my soul. When I go into myself, the darkness that lurks below my eyes has theories. I write the tears in my veins and the blood that was never blue. I seek conviction that life is worth it and that life is beautiful but I also seek destruction. I want chaos and blood, to tell me that the gore isn't horrible but a scene not yet loved by another. I want my lullabies to help me sleep at night while helping talk to the monster under my bed. Help me make tea with Gods that are beyond my grasp. Whisper I love you to an entity not seen.
My writing is something that is ugly as it is raw. There is no in-between for me I am either beauty or terror. I am either dead or alive. I either write or don't.
Sadness isn't what I asked.
He looked at me with pity.
