I’m a self taught painter-

Checkout my other blog with my paintings-Ilovepaint

I want to try. I want to work and learn and collect, but I don’t.

Sometimes I’m not even scared anymore, just sad and tired. I feel too old and too young to have become this way. And I feel more and more everyday just how it hurts. It brings me back to reality.

And much to my disdain- brings me back to life.

I don’t have much else to say, I’m sad and scared and tired, and still somehow hopeful.

Things are more equal on paper - canvas

I don’t wear blue- I do paint in blue

respect for things that exist without you- that is why I am so angry at the world, and still not a angry person

My soul is clean of unreasoned hate- I will still point the finger at the dirty ones- the unforgiving ones- mostly because they have nothing to forgive- they are only angry because no one owes them anything

—but still I have done no good, just sat here really

and done no bad-

I am nothing really- I have built myself with scrap pieces and I didn’t notice how many pieces have fallen away through time and I can’t walk anymore, talk, be, live. I breathe though, That’s more than most.

I am not ungrateful, I do understand. I am just cold and strange and mostly confused. When I say my name I don’t see anything. Like I don’t exist, that is the consequence of indecision.

Make choices, fail bad, fail good, I think it will feel better than this.