My mind translates the intrusive dialect that the voices speak to me. I’m sure they are just my emotions running rapid and my thoughts running off track. The root of all negativity is imagination, how? You can imagine the feelings and thoughts of the ones around you. I try to straddle the line between insanity and creativeness to create a story or just a line that paints a picture even more beautiful than the Mona Lisa. I want to be my own Picasso. I want to paint the picture of peaceful pastures yet create dark shadows. There will always be clouds lingering over something beautiful.
The most beautiful thing in the world is a young mind. The tender youth find pleasures in destroying something they have no need to keep.
Ever tried to grasp a thought but it slipped through your fingertips slowly as you began to hesitate to speak your mind due to fear of what others will say and feel? You imagine the looks upon their faces and the thoughts that could run through their head so that silver tongue is turned to brass.
Executions of the tactfulness in which I hold my pen is full of mixed emotions and aggression. Every occurrence has an inspirational moment within it. All of the climatic and amazing mixture of feelings and interactions creates this reason for me to create pictures and stories that I never believed could be good enough.
Self inflicted despair that I’ve been told not to be hard on myself yet I’m not who will be?