i haven't written anything pretty in a long time.

that's all right i'm delerious.

but i have a story idea and it's cuddled all warm and soft next to my heart going thump thump thump under my ribs and i breathe it and think it and live it and i'm almost afraid to put it down on paper because it might end up like all the others: unfinished and disgusting.

syllogismesque:

--i always want to spit on my work before it's through.
--this idea is closer to my real self than ever before.
--i am only just getting out of the wanting to spit on me mindset.
--i don't like taking steps backward.
--i don't want to verbalize this idea, i might hate it.
--i might hate me.
--i'm through with hating me forever that phase is done if it kills me.

one should never contemplate her mental state in a fit of delerium.

it's just not done in polite society

ink :: graphite