My thoughts screamed, begged, pleaded to be on paper. So I fulfilled their wishes.My hands could not endure any pain of procastination and so they tortured me with guilt.I lied so many times to my own face. Something only a human being would do.My Soul yearned for a higher pleasure and found it in my saddest moments.My heart followed great poets only to be met with an average writing skill author.I do not know where this road will lead me. Do you?

Ich schreibe aus Trauer heraus, so wie ich aus Euphorie schreibe.Ich schreibe wie ein kümmerlicher Autor und in Gedanken wie die größten Dichter. Ich schreibe, weil meine Hände mich nicht anders lassen wollen. Ich schreibe von Erlebnissen und Lebensweisheiten, die ich noch nicht erlebt habe.Ich schreibe um einen Weg zu ebnen.Wollen sie mir folgen, lieber Leser?

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