Fear

There's a presence of intimidation by the unspoken words of mine, no less the feelings behind them. These lips cannot interpret the chaos that lies within, and my mind cannot come to terms with the utter mess of my inner emotions when my surroundings ever so prevent myself from letting loose. This only allows fear itself to settle where most damage is done. It drips into my self-unconsciousness, stains my heart, and devours the confidence that was left. What once flourished with horror, has now diminished by beauty.

Someone will question myself whether that be I, or an acquaintance of mine but only a stranger to my soul. Yet, who am I to answer when I know little about my own being. I do not look to loneliness as a cure, but as a way of obtaining something that needs no cure. Only will deeper meanings be defined when not obvious. I urge for the carefree way of forgetting what has to be forgotten while forgotten by others, but cursed with no ability to forget.

Escaping

I feel there is no need for a clarification on what I ever so choose to write about. To those who are taking the time to read these words that I took the time to write, in all honesty, my words are only for my own benefit. But if they bring about unthinkable thoughts to your own being, then my words have succeeded my expectations within myself, as well as my own thought process.

Should I be restricted to only creating art based upon another's approval and suppress my own approval, I would simply lose a part of myself.  I would no longer find motivation nor inspiration.  I look to art not necessarily to express myself in some cases, but to escape from myself. I know how others view me and I like to acknowledge it with acceptance. With that acceptance, I run my brush across a page and create loud, unique remarks of only my eyes can read. Art should not be defined so that it will have an understanding; for some pieces of art are not for you to understand, but for the creator to have a better understanding of themselves. 

Knowledge

My knowledge about the world is held to a certain limitation. I can choose to ignore, or to embrace these observations that scream out to me. I would rather scream inside this deepened heart for now, though all I'll ever hear are the echoes of it's endless beating.  That is all I know, or at least have been forcefully exposed to. Terrified by the perfect simplicity of life to others, I complicate my own. 

All time has done for me is create a further distance between what I'm familiar with. There is a simplistic beauty in that all you lose, and a thrill in watching yourself lose it. But only true beauty from within escapes to the surface when you float alone; no other souls to guide yours astray, or pull you to the depths.