On August 11, 2015 by Graeme Cooper. I have no idea who I am. This room attempts to suggest. My presence in metaphor;. Of a story which is only partly mine,. Although told in the first person. I have no idea who I am. These more or less comfortable clothes. Try to define me in outline until. Illusion is exposed by removal,. Is a costume on the floor. Too much skin around haunted eyes,. Too heavy with the responsibility.

Though obstacles stand in between.

Poetry, prose, tips on what works for me. Poetry, Prose, Writing Tips. I grew up in a little town in the capital of Ghana. I never really wrote anything until around age 13 when I had begun to write a few short stories. Before then, reading for me was mostly on billboards and the few books I got from my friends in school, but my interest in novels would peak really fast. I still cannot bring myself to recollect the erotic words of. Please rate, like and share.

8230;the mirth on your tongue. Originally posted on The Amped Hub. My dreams followed the same pattern lately. Adobeee-a, Adobeee-a, what happened to you in the Tent of Incense Fire? Always in the mocking, childlike tones of the black butterfly. What happened in that one night that was ten days long? What did the greys show you, what exactly did they do to you? 1,631 more words. On July 6, 2015. I saw my funeral in a momentary sleep. On May 10, 2015.

Maybe she will be remembered. As the girl from East-Flanders. Courteous and well kept among others. As the girl torn between the past. As the chap you held hands with. Whenever you see Omar Sy. She will always be remembered.

My hope has been dangling on a worn out string. No other way to really put it. 8221; post that I made a few weeks after our short bre.