The ocean of secrets is only within my own reach.
Blood, sweat, and tears are the crucial ingredients to create the formula of the artists’ lament.
The canvas is my flesh as the paintbrush is the knife.
The artist’s lament is the color that soaks the paint brush of an unearthly color.
I am numb to the touch of anything beyond my own understanding.
I never thought that the truth would hurt like this.
Why must the artistic ones suffer the most to create the perfect picture?
Please cut the canvas open so I may sleep without the weight of lies tearing me apart.
Set me free.
(all credit goes to the original owner(s) of featured image)