I want to walk down the street in the midnight lamp posts I want to drown in the words of these open books I want to find the path that leads to Atlantis All of my thoughts are filled with these antics
I want to climb the canvasses stacked in my room I want to sit for weeks and watch the flowers bloom I want to swim in the clouds and just sink like the titanic All of my thoughts are filled with these
I want to listen to the wind filled with my favorite songs I want to dance with my emotions and feel like everything belongs I want to grab the universe, and hold all of the planets But i know, I can only dream of these antics
the ones that constantly play on my mind, now etched inside his head he'd make you feel profound things converting a blank page into a room full of thoughts and visualizations waiting to be filled with intention by the way his fingertips graze over canvas strokes, hues, and lines every exquisite detail the lead scraping across the paper shadows that protrude the overall portrait contemplating to contrast the grays forming vivid illustrations no one would ever envision the paper comes to life before my eyes it's like he never had to use his own hands to touch each & every part of me i only see him in monochrome but he penetrates me with all kinds of hues
i hope he realizes that he himself, is art. my art.
Unfeeling Undisturbed In simply the worst of times Potentially leaving others reeling Or in my stead disturbed Whilst leading on conversation How is it all so?
Am I to be assuming That it is encouraged To put on a painted mask Of emotions, when the fact of the matter Is that there is nothing existing behind it? Nothing more than a blank, slippery canvas That simply cannot be painted upon