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Stories come in many forms, whatever way an artist decides to use to express a view of the world or a feeling that otherwise is lost or kept static without the possibility of forming into something new, communicating with others like a river that flows through different landscapes that shape it and wise versa.


When I seek to create

I imagine a magical

mystical dreamland

Enough space for my thoughts


Somehow my mind

Mistakes it for

A physical space

Magical, mystical wasteland

Where my body is free to roam

As my mind is fully capable of

In any space


I imagine that

Under perfect circumstances

Creativity flows


It flows anyways

Just without me

A rainbow outside of a body

A visual image

Interpretation of a nerve

So real that it tingles in my fingertips


It grows bigger and bigger

And takes over half of my vision

Leaving one eye blind


The stillness before the storm

A painful beauty

Flickering reflection

Untouchable water

A glass half empty

That the sun wishes to dance on

But instead floats through

Creating an illusion

That dances in front of my eyes


One eye gets burned

While the other one tries to hold on to reality

The visual nerve taking over

Creating something so real

That it almost looks like truth


All it predicts

A swollen vein

And excruciating pain


Photophobia, painkillers, and a dark room

As the light that zigzags around half of the spectrum

Real to my vision

Half visible to others

Like a dark room

Full of monsters


The hidden pain that follows

Just as real to me

As a rainbow to others

A natural paradox


Beauty and pain

Invisible to others but just as real

As the perfect magical, mystical wasteland

Where creation flows without pain


Darkness hid behind the light in your eyes

A conversation held in silence

In a dream

Fate whispers

A premonition

The burden of madness

knowing what you should not know






The world turned upside down

Mirroring what we think is common

Turning it around

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