I think the world is going to miss me in my twenties. I was cheap and easy...way to easy. I followed my narratives and not my heart. I played in colors and nothing stood in my way. Freezing waves and heavy wind couldn't slow me down from murals. Now soon to be 36 me has pain and scars and scars of scars. Sanity is neither's friend but now I know the poisons I play in. I love the way my mind plays in them but I know what I'm doing to my self so the fault is mine and not my youth in a way.
Don't get me wrong I love being a mad ink king but is it madness if you know you're mad?
The inks dance in my corners of my eyes so perfect and the Sumi inks are the black ice smell in the back of your throat.
My feet miss being bare but the cold is the knife in my joints.
Ink is one of my favorite drugs.
