There are no words.
Reluctant thoughts reverberate through my shattered mind.
Give me art.
No.
Give me pain.
Is not each an expression, a fissured window into terminal existentialism?
Productive.
One may yield greater beauty.
From where is the beauty derived but pain dressed most lavishly.
Bandage.
Cover the wound. Let the scab crust over and the scar surface.
Beauty, art.
Forever sealed beneath a freckled mausoleum.
