Feb 12

The scribble



art
that becomes my very breath 
my very existence
the broken pencil 
the beginning 
of my anger 
my eyebrows slowly scrunching together
like two very skinny caterpillars
inching their way across my forehead 
as I select another pencil 
and start again
slow
line 
after 
line
lines fading and falling
falling down rabbit holes
I draw what I see in that twisted reality 
and I guess what I saw was. . .  
a scribble?
hum
I'll try art again tomorrow.