An artist's cup
Full and empty all at once
Schrödinger's cat in another life
Second sight coupled with the afterlife
Feeling a little too much
Artists need a place to bleed
Somewhere to be free
Riddled artistry
A cup of gravity
Unique to each who drinks
Crafted by creativity
Drained by objectivity
An everlasting cup
Filled with hopes and dreams
Pains and philosophies

Tips of wheat brush gently across my fingers
I weep
But there are no tears that stream
Or muffled sobs
Only me in a field of wheat
A place among the stars
Why here?
In this field of golden stalks and grey sky
I'm answered by the breeze
Caressing my face with gentle embrace
Sight fades for feeling's sake
The illusion of life slips away
I am left with these golden stalks and breeze
Here I am free
Among the wheat with my lonely tree
I rest peacefully

and I was sinking
into the fathomless dark gyres
of his coal-black eyes

𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒆 

         𝒈𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒄 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔 
   𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 
        𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 

𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒎𝒔