Roses are red, violets are blue, Your heart is dead, but I had no clue. I had so much love for you, But I realized, It was all a lie I should’ve seen right through.
I know violets aren’t blue but that’s just how it goes.
the world works like a machinery, and i am a young robot made to function despite the misery; at the expense of death on the inside, pieces of me were individually bought.
what most people try to look for, but it's a tunnel vision; meant to limit one's complexity.
IA ☕
01.11.21. | watched something quite insightful earlier and here's my thought/s about it. i used to think i have to find my purpose which was so often believed by the myriad as something that's entirely capable/responsible of the good things to come. but it's a tunnel vision to keep our lives confined in this singular purpose or perhaps something that's grand.
What's the colour of the artist's mind? How does he see into the object or scene? To what does his imagination bind? Must his heart be still and serene?