Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Wounded

She's like a baby bird that is dying, a sweet innocent creature that all I can do is hold and tell that it's okay, that I'm here, she's here and it's going to be okay, and the sadness and the....that's why I draw it, because words don't describe it, they get too detailed and have rules and structure.  This is like nothing, no adjective can describe because it's every word in the whole dictionary entangled into one big mysterious snarl in the pit of my stomach.