comradematt
The blank sheets present opportunity, open canvases for my mind. Full sails for my thoughts and cloudless skies for my dreams. They are a beacon of hope for the expression of the soul. To fill them would be a crime but to not, a missed chance.
"You can stand up tall and try to act brave, if it makes you feel more dignified. But the end result's the same whether you try to stare me down as I pull the trigger or if you died crying on the ground. We all shit our pants in the end."
My mind is a junkyard. Full of forgotten memories, has beens and could have beens, none of which are relevant The final resting place for my sanity, this junkyard.
A word so looked over, but so powerful. Average can be positive, negative. But most of all, average is it's own oxymoron. For being average is not something the average person wishes to do.
Who holds more power, the writer or the reader? Surely it must be the writer, for he makes the words what they are. But the reader determines how they are perceived, the final outcome. Truly he is god.