A writers mind is like a black hole.
Dark,
Twisted,
Gruesome,
Swirling with chaos and doubt,
We fight for our daily lives-
But corner it for our art.
It's filled with emotion, pain, and thoughts others won't dare express.
Every indiscretion tackles the mind,
Haunts and hides in the deepest crevices of our brains-
Waiting and lingering to sneak up on us
To inspire us or destroy us,
Threatening that black hole to swallow us whole.