Moments.
All gathering towards this one.
We make patterns, we share moments. Sometimes, I think I'm the only one to see it.
Jenny DownhamMots clés inspirational
Three points for the dead slowly prising open the lids of their coffins. They want to hunt the living. They can't stop. Their throats have turned to liquid and their fingers glint under the weak autumn sun.
Jenny Downham. . . my bones they'll burn or bury. It'll be my death.
Jenny DownhamI imagine horses in the engine, their manes flying, their breaths steaming, their nostrils flaring as they gallop.
Jenny DownhamI want to die in my own way. It's my illness, my death, my choice. This is what saying yes means.
Jenny DownhamIt's utterly beautiful not to know my own edges.
Jenny DownhamIt's as if a child with a brush and too much enthusiasm has been set free with a tin of black paint inside me.
Jenny DownhamMots clés sorrow depression
The light is heart-breaking.
Jenny DownhamNo, really. I free you.'
I don't want to be free.
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