artwork
I leave behind paintings to die alone in perfect misunderstanding.
Self portraits to take stock of a life I didn't understand.
All my life I wanted to be seen.
I wanted to be, and then I was, and then I wanted to be nothing.
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One day it will all die.
The stretcher bars and canvas will slowly concede to rot.
And the shapes and their color and their meaning
will blur into sun bleached tones and chemicals that the bugs cannot eat.
I leave behind the memories that lived in my bones.
I had hoped to find the words, and for a time I did.
Now I hope to never have to explain what any of it ever meant.
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I hope you draw something honest.
I hope you confront yourself.
I left so little to the imagination.
This was all simply evidence of a life lived somewhere else entirely.
Far off and tucked away,
in the head of a dead god.
The incessant ramblings and ruminations and isolated incidences and and and for all the times I couldn't make it out of this awful city.
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I was always meant to die. over and over and over and over and only when I die my final death will I find the peace I was looking for. I am so sorry.