Big red fucking roses.
Submitted by M.Sax on Wed, 06/09/2010 - 7:30amAdmitts the pay is good and recalls how he felt when he got his first pay for writing .
"Pow!Now I feel like those people who win the lottery."
So even if even if the pay is good he says in his own words that is not the reason.He writes cause it's fun.Period.
Well I don't want to be a novelist.
To me being able to put down words about my feelings and the places I've been it's like standing in front of my self in a mirror.
Trying not only to make sense and be coherent but also in a way I want to see how I am,was,how I used to be.
Being on that place ,re-constructing the time/ place my dad almost cut my moms throat,it's scary.
Then and now it scares the shit out of me.The switch that takes the sun down.No light and pure fear.
The attic,the secret little black room.
We live in an apartment on the second floor and we don't have an attic.
If there was an attic,I'd take a lighter,a candle and a torch light and I ll take my big ass up there.
Chances are it will stink,not to mention the decoration.
I'll take a vase ,put some huge red roses and place it right in the middle of it.
That's what writing about my feeling feels like.
If there's nothing good in there I ll try hard and plant something good even if it's made up.
Big red fucking roses.