poem: when to give your Self away?

when to give your Self away?
(if you even have one?)
is it work or love or play?
do you get to choose?

what persists beyond the grave?
joyous spirit parties?
can the body’s work be saved?
better question: why?

should you try to quell your pain?
any kind you’re feeling?
same old shit but different day?
isn’t that the dream?

from a safe and quiet space
free of fear of violence
seeking out a change of pace?
that I wouldn’t buy

Sunday Special: Self-promotion

Hi folks,

Just a bit of cross-promotion for my other endeavours.

If you like short poems about art, life, and social media, check out my twitter feed: @lbrightworks

If you like colourful sketches of weird faces, foods, and cats, check out my instagram: @loganbrightworks

And of course if you like the meandering adventures of four weirdos, stay tuned right here: loganbrightworks.com

As ever, hit me with any questions, concerns, comments, critiques, or other alliterative terms of that nature.

Thanks for reading! I love you.