|
Dimmed in the clutter of diseased productivity, a fixed stare on barren canvas. Discarded coffee cups and denied sketches, these are the bones of this vivid graveyard. Vivi-section of the mind, raped of creativity, penetrating memory, buried in the clocks taunting tick. an imperishable desire for thought, damaged as the deceased muse, massacure through the piantbrush. |
|