Its not an emptiness, it’s more of a gnawing.
In a moment’s silence during my day I feel it inside me and with that comes a longing.
For fulfillment, for expression, the visual satisfaction of ink on paper.
With days flowing into weeks I become restless, occupied as my mind mixes pallets of ideas; though never painting the canvas.
Everyone requires more of me.
Responsibilities commanding a scheduled life where becoming lost in thought seems only a fantasy.
If I could dive down into my imaginary mind, would I find depth?
What about treasure?
Would I feel amazement or disappointment?
I find a Hunger in me. It’s a gnawing in my insides and only feed on expression..
I am taking the artist in me off the restricted meal plan and letting her feast on the Expression Buffet.
© Copyright 2016 Murnit. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Horror
Poem / Romance
Poem / Horror
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