Love from the inside

You’re a lover of beauty, but I absolutely love it when you draw ugly things. It’s like dissecting through me and tantalizing on the hideousness,
unevenness, asymmetries, quirks, faults and mistakes.
It’s gutting my pain, and somehow finding a hidden rainbow
From splatters of chaotic colors.
I love it when you see it; these bursts of fire red and seeping black blue. I love it when your brush strokes frantically because life just isn’t more. It’s a silly dance that you dance, of anguish and frustrations, but it’s so grand. I know you’re a lover of beauty, but I just love it when your hand’s stained in ink. When the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen rests on a dirty sheet of paper,
when you destroy its face into pieces and see me.

PICT0028 (3).JPG

Surely dying

I’m sitting here on the empty Jacuzzi staring at the ceiling with water droplets spritzing near my face, as I try to feel fulfilled. In my room, I spray all types of scents to calm my senses but it just numbs me down. I have every material thing that I want and I make a lot of money for a chick who claims to not need a lot. I turn on the bright blue therapy light that mimics sunlight to feel like I’m sitting under the sun. I meet a lot of people every day whom I don’t call my own. I have the love of my two parents but I want a big family that’s fifty times bigger and will have my back. I have the guy that adores me but I also want one who doesn’t. I’m climbing the capitalist ladder but I believe in socialist type stuff. I’m maintaining my status as a whatever, but it’s just killing me inch by inch. I don’t take pills, smoke, or drink to cope but that doesn’t mean I’m happier. I can’t follow spiritual leaders and luminaries who say pretty things because in the end they’re just humans like me. I can’t support any religions with an open heart because they talk too much of discipline, but I’m fueled by instinct and desire. I have realistic aspirations now and still want to do significant things for the future, but I don’t if I don’t have to. I can have kids if I want to but I may just let my body shut down. There are twelve months in a year and eight of them are already over and I can’t get the past three or four years back.

20160703_201922 (2).jpg

The animals have become our puppets…

Unconscious minds, robotic lives, synthetic food,
Industrialization, expedited technological progression, automation
The labor force driven by coffee and lack of sleep
Careless destruction of nature…
Children nurtured by media
Animals, our puppets