dark side

My dark side took possession of my spirit today. She is the muse of the barbed wire, the mad dogs, the screaming faces, the rusted metal, and the thunder storms that appear in my paintings. Sister of Sylvia Plath, who mourns each fig that falls to the ground, every path not taken, the dreams destroyed.
Dawn struggled to pull itself out of an endless insomniac's night. Dreary, cold and wet, the morning matched my mood. In the gray were no distractions to refocus my attention from the pain of a personal life that begs a burial.

Today was a hard one...