Sitting with an arm full of play piercing pins, eating ice cream and having a likely unwarranted artist fit. Feeling at once languid and vitriolic, a Queen Bee and a paranoid sentinel hypervigilant against saboteurs.
The lateness of the hour, the stillness of the space around me wraps me in a cocoon. Silver permeates every pore and mingles with violet, taunting melotonin. Even in insomnia the sleep of reason comes.