Kirsty Woodward > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

we sit down here to write and wonder where it’s all going my heart bleeds for the ones on the streets for the broken for the damned

it's lonely here in my bones

you smell of smoke and soul and I love you.

to be continued...

Bukowski would’ve fucked his way out of it and told Fante to stay the f**k alive Hemingway was different he made a masterpiece out of his bod..

what it takes to be soft in a world that is constantly trying to solidify you we are watched we are timed education and places of work are crushi..

is this what sex has come to we don’t touch anymore instead we send each other virtual staged carefully crafted pictures of our naked bo..

where did all the creativity go? we are brainwashed by fancy suits spit polished boots and the system our brains are sick we talk too much but ..

you can talk to me about anything you like but the only conversation I’m interested in is between me and the stars

I could be obsessed with you, if you let me.