If I could write I would, but I find myself slumped over a cacophony of empty glasses.
Infact, when I do write, there is a no good reason for pen meeting paper.
Someone is hurting, a child is growing up without a mother or my eyes are drenched by misadventure.
This is how it happens, this is how i write.
A sick and ugly man dressing up depravity with carefully constructed sentences; just enough to protect those who are involved.
If i could write I could live as well.