Creative

Dear Dad – entering into a trance, muttering words of vines, love stories you wrote, were magnificent and great.

Oblivion comes at a price I will not pay, I look to you every time as I begin words I pray. Rest my weary soul upon this red I lay, as this body of mine grows fatigued by words I tire.

Do you see what I see? I can’t see what you see. If you could see what I see, and I could see what you see. What would we see.

Amber draws from a prison in QLD.

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A painting sent to us by Lanie.

A drawing of Stitch from Lilo and Stitch, sent to us by Dan.

Often I try to self-reflect which turns into waves of rings around me. This picture reflects my days in general; life is static, surrounded by waves around.

The cage stands bold, with its steel-clad mesh. For within its grip, it’s us it holds. Ten foot walls, of cold creme concrete. For outside we muster, like horses in stalls.

I know you think you’re broken far too much to ever heal properly, like all those other folk that make life seem so real.

“The colours of the rainbow so pretty in the sky." The colours of my jocks lying, on a bench. Uncovered by shutters. Unarmed waiting snakes.