My hands wouldn’t write what I wanted them to, so I went at both of them with the largest hammer I could find in the house.
As I slipped in my own blood and fell towards the floor, it occurred to me that the pain I felt was more satisfying than any poetry I’d ever scribbled down on the blue-lined tear-streaked pages I called a journal.
How to strike loose a writer’s block.,
Very Fight Club. Great.
Mathew Ferguson’s last blog post..Nevermore