ScribeCat

I can’t decide if this is payback, or if I never really cared in the first place.  I’ve always been cold; cold on the outside, cold on the inside.  Machine.  Shut away the emotions that rage too strong, that overwhelm until reason freezes them and I feel nothing but numb.   　　My rage is cold as well. 　　It is anything but numb. 　　My hand hovers in the air; tensing, waiting, clenching, opening to wait again.  Why can’t I let myself slap you?   　　Aloof, disdainful.  It would be lowering to let myself enact this frozen rage upon you.  I am better than this.  I am better th

Creativity     Always seems to happen when Sleep is most needed.