May 25, 2000: The slow death of a creative
Every step in my eyes is in failure—so I prepare my soul to be hit only to be left to bleed. I’m so deep this morning—way within the limits, almost in fear but not close enough to confidence. My feet dangle in hopes of never escaping. Who am I today behind these thick clouds? Wake up! I can’t stand slow-handed mind surfing—feed me your desire, inspire this passion. Don’t block it out! You can’t turn it away! I crave what you create and perform—I value all pieces left to dry. Give me more! Feed me more! Without you…I am my own wall.