Build it, tear it apart, then build it stronger. Mold it to satisfaction and shape it to fit. Oh good, your canvas is ready. Now feed your canvas with paint, don't be stingy, your canvas is starving for the stroke of your brush. Feed the canvas with all your want, all your need and all your love. Your painting is growing larger, stronger and more complex. You're a rather good artist, did you know that? I better not say that, you'll get a big head, okay, back to painting. Keep those brush strokes true and build a relationship with your creation. Oh joy, your painting is nearly complete. So much work was this painting, what will come of your labor of love? But, wait, what's this? Something just isn't right with this painting. Hmm, this painting has no future in your art gallery, then again, it never really did, it was just another disposable painting. Another stepping stone to better your craft. So close to perfection, it had potential and could easily be reworked, it obviously craves your attention. But yanno, it would be much easier to just start a new painting. Surely you can paint a better one. Oi vey, look at this studio, it's getting rather crowded, perhaps it's best you burn your 'disposable painting', you need the room for more important things. Set that painting ablaze! Well done, all gone. Ah yes, that's better, now we have room to paint our true vision.

lunch time again

You think that's healing that you're feeling? That pain in the depths of your chest that lingers throughout the day, you know what that is? Make no mistake, it's not healing, it's not creation, it's death. That's right, death. Cold and barren of anything resembling life, that is what you're feeling. The death of what was and what could have been, the death of possibility, the death of opportunity and the death of unity. The choice is to feed the virus, to let it consume something beautiful and right. This is the correct path? I don't think so, no, not at all.

This plague was not righteous, not even close.

Can she obliterate his heart? Can she shatter his dreams? Yes, she most certainly can. Crawling..he begged, desperate..he pleaded, only to fall deeper into the void, slowly suffocating in his misery. With a lifeless thud, he hits bottom, there he is left mangled and pitted. With each passing hour, he grows hollow, cold and broken. He shudders at the idea of soldiering on, he is scarred for life, forever longing that which he cannot have. The road ahead is most torturous and bleak. His spirit is numbed to the core, he is discouraged to no end. A piece of his being is forever taunted and starved by her memory. Drained is his life, crippled is his soul, spent is his resolve, today -forever- ended. A heartbreak so tragic it echos across time, leaving a diseased and jaded shell of a man in it's wake.

This is just the preliminary, it'll look better when I paint it (hopefully)

Yet another piece that will take me a long time to finish, but I had to sketch it down or I'd never do it. X)

don't mind the pencil lines.

One of me heroes.
NEED SPACE TO FIX STUFF

make me believe
that i

have a choice

the devil loves you!