I am interested in art.
I always have been. In creating moving, living experiences so someone else can see my reality. I feel every hour like my heart is bleeding with what I need to create. I can see it so vividly in my head, but my brain fights me. I feel as if I'm drowning in a depression thats making my body frail.
Why?
Why does my pen feel like a vampire?
I think it's because I've trapped myself into monetising beauty. No ones view of me matters anymore, but everyones does.
How can I make something beautiful?
I can see it right there. It's in my head to the millimeter. So why am I not lifting my hand like death is coming?
Why can't I be what people need me to be? Why does this control me? I should be a leader, but all I can bring myself to want is to create.
Why am I scared of people to scared to do anything? I often joke insanity would save me, because I'm right.
I have persistent dreams of making art, of vivid scenes in intricate details, songs I can't fully hear.
It's like sand.
I need to make something.