What if I could give you more of myself than you already possess? Would you take it?

In my dreams, I am walking alone through a field of poppies.

Molded clay Has taken form From ages past To be reborn From greater hands It finds a way To stumble, fall In disarray Then up again To fall apart Be it live? Or work of art?

Now her heart is as cold as ice, and every man shall pay the price.

Now her heart is as cold as ice, and every man shall pay the price.

Speedwrite, 4 minutes. doodle. minor edit