Lost Love Lust

Inspiration is key, hard work is like the smell of a spring afternoon, and well worth is found under the smallest of grey rocks.

Wide eyes of humble underestimation.

You can find me engulfed in literature, introspective misunderstandings, with many o’ strawberry candies set aside for the warming of those cold cold lonely souls.

Often a sweep of smooth jazz will light my neurotic impulses.

You can find me up in that tall tree, because true is it that:

Inspiration is the key.

To misery does brilliance owe much ado.

To heart ache does misery owe much ado.

Is it the key to me, or the key to you?

Perhaps to inspiration we too, owe much ado.