answering your riddles 3

*answered in poems (my poison of choice)

1. When did you begin to write?

'the pen is mightier than the sword.'

i first wielded a weapon of mass destruction at the age of 5.

as soon letters and i had our meet cute,

i flaunted my combat skills through

hastily scribbled characters on hardwood.

when her back was no longer facing me,

my mother let out her own battle cry?

it was that day that i became acquainted with the ignorant.

how dare she call my delicate prose a

"beautiful mahogany office desk ruined by sharpie your dad is going to be so mad just wait until he finds out"

*sigh*

everyone's a critic.

2. What does writing give back to you?

a blonde, red-billed bird once sang

"i'd like to be my old self again,

but i'm still trying to find it"

to write is to simultaneously introspect and illustrate.

cold steel and stale disinfectant cloud my senses.

each endeavor i retain consciousness a little longer.

scalpel in hand, i peer within myself.

20/20 vision, yet my eyes strain

along with my neck, craned as i

blindly prod intestines. being an

avid researcher, each finding is

meticulously logged

a daily ritual now

a medical diary, if you will.

a strategic reopening of wounds if only to heal them fully.

a one-man surgical playset complete with:

a surgeon (doubles as a patient!)

a ball point scalpel

a college-ruled medical chart

a little endoscopy never hurt anyone...

odd that one should

have to look behind them

to see where they're headed.

research indicates walking backwards may just be

the most convoluted yet

most efficient route to tomorrow.

symptoms are a precursor to diagnoses.

and diagnoses to treatments.

but prevention should always be sought if possible.

i am the disease. i am the symptom.

i am the patient. i am the surgeon.

the cure lies in the illness.

the cure lies in the ill.

how bleak that the human psyche

can only be fully investigated by its owner

of course the mad possess a disturbing sense of humor;

laughter is the best medicine.

they expect the ill to create their own tonic,

knowing full well that toxin surges

within their bloodstreams. the sick also

possess a perverted lexicon. poison is

synonymous with antidote.

but introspection yields illustration.

my blacks became shades of grey,

and my greys, pastels.

i started dabbling in watercolor.

it's nice to see physics is a thing again;

for the longest time, my reflection didn't exist

3. What is your ultimate writing goal?

immortality