My Art

To love is to bare yourself completely, to throw open the windows of an abandoned house that has long since forgotten what it means to be a home. To place meaning in a thousand things that were once mundane, yet are now imprinted on the fabric of your soul.

To claw your way through bloody corridors, tearing down each and every memory of a time that once held meaning. When all has turned to ash in your hands and choked the very air that you breathe.

What is left when the very foundation that once held you above the raging storm have crumbled beneath your feet?

What option is there then but to fall?

Perhaps this is why birds fly... So their feet may never have to touch the cursed ground.

So they may never have to hide behind the bars of a cage.

To love is to feel, and to feel is to be a slave to your heart...