All that is spent in life that’s done and gone, dreams driven to the brink of reality. Pitch black stages of deformity and chaos that make us who we are. Challenged souls that work for nothing, specimens of mechanical love. A bird with no feathers and children with no homes. The dominating forces of nations with no hope. There’s always an edge to be left at, to seek, to throw you off balance. The entire space of this earth isn’t enough anymore, even insanity becomes morale. You look for a shelter in your isolation, beyond the borders of society and the rules of these games, you look for a meaning, an emotion, symbols with no names. There are no walls that can contain you and no bridges you can cross.

You stand in the middle of a demolished house and you wonder what it looked like before all this happened, was it a happy place? Did it have windows and doors? Were the walls painted in bright colours or deep, intense shades? Were the curtains always pulled back to reveal the sun or did they shut all the light away? Were the corners clean or were there hidden skeletons in the cupboard? Was it haunted and lonely or did a big cheerful family live in it? Was there laughter and joy booming through the air or did the silence of vacuum resonate? Did it hold up through the winter and the winds, did it slide away the rain and push through till summer? Or did it slowly wither down into the bricks of nonexistence? Did it know hope? Did it know faith? Did it ever imagine this would be its fate?

You turn around and you begin to walk away, steps and distances further away from the dust and emptiness….that was once your soul.

I’m not going to make you chose. I’m not going to ask you to pick between rivers and roads, to decide between sailing and flying, to hold on or to let go. I’m not going to tell you to base a decision on what you know and what you can see, but bear in mind I don’t keep my promises and I don’t glitter like gold. I break and fall; I’m the queen of self-destruction. So if I were to ask you to pick between the worst and the better, to learn to paint with one color, to settle for the drenched and the unspoken; I’d lose the right to ask to begin with.