Desolate is, me, engulfed by nothingness, yet everything around us; moving. The mind moves faster than our words escape us, and revelations happen on tomorrow’s end. I love the: at home, the at rest, the body of a sheltered soul. And the obstacle of establishment is that the dreamers trapped inside the reality. The individuals that escape only through the stifled, and the dreamers who only escape through the dead nights – alone.
Understand me in the palace of fine truths and sacred hearts; feel me devour the science of courting tongues.
Enlighten the black-and-white canvas, paint through the portrait of yourself.