Perfect Image
My words do not articulate my world in the way that I feel it. I can feel that power, it crackles on my tongue when I try to speak. My eyes are coloured by the shadows of images that remain beyond. This is where I am running to, howling like a castrated lion, to throw myself into the void of art. I believe in the shadows, that line where giddy fear grips me, I grin maniaclly and devour the darkness, to become it, to become the soul of the universe. In my life art is a quest to illuminate the darkest crying corners of myself, to drag out everthing I would hide and put it on display for the audience inside. To be the diva of everything, to become god-like. And I do, I am the king of my world. I load up with the wonders and frights I have known and journey back to you, to share, but the sunlight stiffens my tongue and the perfect image of my mind washes out in the light of the world.
today was a very odd day