The words keep coming....through the looking glass

Hmmmm. They didn’t start out prophetic. They started out as reflections. Little midnight doodlings. Obsessive Saturday night scribblings. To save my mind. To keep me breathing, in and out. Deep breaths. Manic pencil strokes that rescued me from the moment.I usually paint on the walls. The never ending, snaking ,growing taller walls that house my soul.And then, Joe died. And the clipboard with the