GreyBeguiler

This picture is not me. I just thought it was pretty enough. I am just another confused being trying to get threw this thing they call life. I write what I want and theres usually no reason for what it is. But I write for me. Because it seems like even though some of my stuff might not be that good, its the only thing thats consistant in my life. I may grow old and feeble, but they'd have to break my hands to get me to stop writing. Some are poems, others stories, and probably some that have no definition.