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Description
When did my words abandon me? My pencil flipped from my palm and colour came from my fingertips and it

blotted

them all

out

I used to be a blacksmith, wordsmith, except it was so natural, so gentle, like milk and honey spilling from my mind.
Oozing, leaking, bleeding emotive imagery. I could make your mind go places with but a hint.
Listen: remember pools of orange lamplight with the hand of a lover?

Remember lines and lines of text or powder or splits in the skin of what it means to be

human.

Remember the whiplash
of my changing rhythms?

Listen: I once could make the voice in your head do whatever I wanted. Like this: we're having a conversation now.
How's the weather?
How's your mother?

How's this for an attempt at befriending words again?

Description
When did my words abandon me? My pencil flipped from my palm and colour came from my fingertips and it

blotted

them all

out

I used to be a blacksmith, wordsmith, except it was so natural, so gentle, like milk and honey spilling from my mind.
Oozing, leaking, bleeding emotive imagery. I could make your mind go places with but a hint.
Listen: remember pools of orange lamplight with the hand of a lover?

Remember lines and lines of text or powder or splits in the skin of what it means to be

human.

Remember the whiplash
of my changing rhythms?

Listen: I once could make the voice in your head do whatever I wanted. Like this: we're having a conversation now.
How's the weather?
How's your mother?

How's this for an attempt at befriending words again?