These painted walls could hold the truth to something.
In an attempt to define everything, I once again find myself with nothing. Lately, instead of the world getting in my way, I get in its way. Analyze, analyze, think, think....live?
Live without questioning? Without that puncuation mark that must follow this sentence to stay grammatically correct?
Rubbish. Question I must, accept I must not. This is the curse that I have been given, one that I am looking for a cure. Crucifixes, silver bullets, garlic, all vague superstitions, objects to distract from the pure reality that things must be fought face to face. Bare. Naked.
Words hold me in, words let me out. This is my graffiti.
