Little things

There is something inside my mind that is scratching to escape, to see the world a new, possibly it will change my world, possibly is will just be. But for now, it crawls, creaks, bangs and itches, just around the edges, looking for that escape valve that moves from the mind through the neck, into the arms, around the elbow, past my wrists, into my fingers, and, at last, onto the paper.

As soon as that happens, you will be some of the first to know.