The Question Marks Book Spa Otatade Okojie

Splinters, crackled glass, making shapes, im running fast, from shadows of fear that trickle like ink on a pallette, a canvas that is eager for the brush strokes of my creative mind. Creative mind come to me, come to me, so i can see, all the things hidden , beyond contempt, those eager boxes that dont make sense, unlock all the padlocks, with iron clad keys, slide open compartments, have knowledge on knees, for a bite of the apple,so tender and sweet, something delicious, to be trapped in my teeth.