Springtime, no me time suffocating on pollen. When I became. Bloom
Strokes as soft as a feather hues of reds and yellow blends of blues and greens abstract still life is for the artist. Taking in every moment you yourself seem to miss. So cheerful is the artist full of all sorts of glee to finally take her canvas and go forth marking history.
It’s a game I’ve learned to master, much like a craft I’ve developed a nack for See, the key is to make it as real as you can, without that being true. Because even the slightest emotion, can set you on the path of doom.
Mr Frog are you lonely? Is that why you've come here for warmth you need so dear? I must beg pardon as you will not find such thing in a heart that know none of those frivolous things If you'd ask I may have considered then again I may just be bitter. Mr. Frog I think … Continue reading
She was a symphony of forgotten thank yous of oh yes you're still here still here why are you even here. Her melodies were soft spoken instructions even softer hands head too hard to entrust vitals too low to continue. Her footsteps echoed in the office side eyes and side doors what makes you think … Continue reading Orch Estra
The crows of my past have been released struggling consumed by a fiery belief That they are always intertwined with my future no matter how mild. Ritualistic drowning weighed down by chains cleanings of the spirit and mind it entails The pressure and pain feels sweet awaiting my ascension, love it lifts. The doves of … Continue reading
I for one am happy. I sit on this the last day of the year mind full of dreams heart full of memories over running like the cup of blessing my Lord had set before me. I for one am afraid of the change, that is to come loving without having never felt this rewarding … Continue reading Mind Flooding of Theoretical Tradition