A pack of bones that feel that they might explode by barely contained energy that wants to get out, however it can. It has to, here or somewhere else by the vehicle of some other poor soul, creative or murderous.

Sensations coloured blue and pink that you can make nothing of . What are you supposed to feel anyway?

I don't like to spill my guts all over the place in the guise of "sincerity" because it frankly feels disgusting.

It means scattering a part of yourself to come to a supposedly new and mature viewpoint for it to all come crashing down. Then, you are left to search for those shards again.

People suggest Art and all of the other beautiful things in life as tincture for this brain disease and I agree, yes.

Or, is it another way of attributing missing parts to an overall design, like jigsaws to empty space, after all the listening and appreciation has been done?

What's even more pathetic is that I now have to find an image to go along with this wall of text. kek, isn't it pathetic.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGD9i718kBU?si=C1Bp7wETS_GoZWvK[embed]