you've lost your muchness

Sometimes I see my mind like a canvas with each thought tattooed against; stacked millions high upon each other and as a new idea creeps inside, an old one is lost underneath a tidal wave of ink. There is so much ink that it creates an ocean and it hums of poetry and whispers teenage angst. Words are everything. They swim through my veins and reside behind my eyes. They create me; I am words.
To read a book will soothe me; just being surrounded by dozens of spines stood side by side is enough. My room homes bookcases and shelves flowing over with books, accumulated over the years as gifts, chosen from book fairs by attire or borrowed from the bookshop which I worked in for little over a year. Many remain unread due to lack of time and concentration.

These photos are unfinished sentences and undotted i's.

intentional terrible editing