My house will never be clean,
It'll be a fortresses of dirty dishes, blankets and stacks of loose paper and books scattered across my house,
it'll be a beautiful maze of clutter
Paintings from Arabia,
books from South America,
wool blankets from Ireland
and beaded fabric from the flea markets in Maricesh
With walls of thrown paint and paper writing tacked to every open piece of wall,
My house will be my minds sanctuary,
a chest full of ideas with a lost key.
-t.c
