My favourite flowers are dead; dried up by the sun, clutching the ***, the last of the lot; from whence the spring has sprung.

You shall remember the departed; shinning in the sun, adorning the ***, the best of the lot, from whence the spring has sprung.

Who are you to doubt your perfection, who instilled the idea that you are incomplete and that fear is healthy in all things; including your dreams and your beliefs.

Breaking news!
Donald J Johnson withdraws releasing a startled Boris Trump.

The desire for chemical relief, playful, wilful abandonment, stirring the ***, awakening the physical urge.
Both stripped back, longing for the oxytocin fix, the serenity of melatonin and the minds hush; as our bodies push.

Abstract writing;
Using figurative words with no objective.
Writing streams of consciousness, that simply documents a perception of the now;
without ego or restraint.

(((Just write now, and make sense of it later;
It will always make sense when you give it a title.
(((A label)))((( A meaning)))

The Art of the happy accident.

A happy accident is neither perfect or imperfect;
it s a manifestation born within a state of harmony.
Sometimes; what we call a flawed thing, is simply something yet unimagined.
Awaiting its assignment, its place ?

I am driven to be an artist,
I can't be a good husband, a father and an artist, as each would require my complete attention.

At most, I am reasonable and a part time lover, but for another to love me would be an act of generosity; to be a my keeper something I wouldn't  wish upon anyone.
But here are the facts.