its all i have ..

its all i have ...

the abstract writing .. .. abstract ideas .. those are all just the by products of fear .. fear that they might come true .. or even worse .. they might come true and might not be as magical as they seemed
..
a life full of them .. amounting to nothing more than a prototyped character from a bad book .. so we try to change them .. change them before they crystallize into the pages of our biography ... try to change them with illusion , imagination , experience , rationale .. but they loose their meaning when they are anything more than what they are ..

recalling .. depressive, antisocialist, unrealistic, imaginative, artistic, commercially untalented madmen .. a generation full of them ..

every word we write or every thought thats pops into our head, its all us .. the painting of the distorted clock or the flower pot , or the lonely house with white fences .. its all you .. even the brown charred skin on ur cigarette burned thigh .. is all you ..

the you, that was nothing more than blank pages ..
the you, that painted them black so nobody would see whats in them .. or ask you to describe them ..

the fear has changed me so much that i don't even see them anymore , don't wonder what they mean , don't spend time wondering if they would mean something in future.. or let them fall into my pages ..

i am too busy painting it black ..
from top to bottom,
inside out ..
its all black ..
painted black ..

they were all i had ,
they are all i have ..
i paint them black
my invisible dreams ..
its all i have ..