The Broke Painter

 Dust in the wind Just a drop of water in the endless sea , your Irish charms runs through me.  Nothing last forever but the earth and sky,  It was forever written that through the crowd you would fly high.   That Loud Irish charm for all to hear only grew more and more dear. For all we knew it was several pointless encounters , yet a single year later you are sat in my apartment resting upon my shoulder.  There is not much we don't discuss , and come the early mornings we are still up.  we welcome the morning with sweet conversation about everything and nothing , and sit … complaining about somebody or something.  You call when your happy and when you are sad, but nothing can compare to the feeling we share when you are back . Over the courtyard sat our first goodbyes. The first time you cried , but no the first time we lied. Medlock is where it started , from then on not another moment passed where we were parted. Nights in, nights out, nights alone and nights without, but for wh

 I sit in dark , ever awaiting the Skylark  Until death do us part , i think of you , i wait for the tune and sing along with birds and let the early morning due settle. A heavy sigh of relief, as the sun kisses mine and your cheeks. For once stillness is something to be desired, you lay looking so tired. I feel a subtle breeze, its enough for me to make tea.  A helpful cup of early grey is enough to rest the nightmares at bay, but not enough for you to let go. There's a surely bright world ahead you already know. For what we live now will only be for short, but for what iam certain this early morning feeling can not be taught.

 Me , the window and company Window. A thin sheet of transparent particles that shut me out from the world. A looking glass of what's actually around me, nothing that changes me view, and in some cases makes my view clearer.  All i can do is look through it. Glass tells no lie, glass can distort , shatter or fade what you see but even then the silhouettes are that still true of reality, meaning glass can never change the actual object but the way you see it.  I can recall the days id sit alongside my father in the car, starring out the window. From a child to present day all that changed about that arrangement was the height of which i looked out the window. The same feeling, the same views. There's a subtle calmness i feel when looking through the window. Yet as i said reality is never distorted, i always feel apart from it. When looking through the glass i am no longer present in my body but floating, inches above seeing me see the world, feeling me feel the world. It rolls w

 Death I play around with scenarios in my head. Violent acts towards people, to life. Its so temperamental, life is so easy to take away in more than one sense, illness, addiction , People. I have seen many times people come and go. None of what i see in my head is anger or aggression for the loss of the most beautifully innocent beings but the realisation that life is as fluid as a running river, once can be so full of life and movement and the next its frozen over , dry , desolate, just as quickly as it came, it was gone. This concept is fabricated in my mind as a way of keeping them close, when they died they never left, they sat and stayed for a while, we laughed and cried together, i shouted and stared in my reflection as it showed me the truth, they were never there.  When the realisation hits it hits hard, just as hard as the moment you are stood helpless over her bed as she gasps for air, as she squeezes your hand ever tighter and tighter and tighter. Each breath gets longer lo

 Success It comes late or early, a deep obsession and idea is based around it. Some gain success before death some gain after and some never at all. Did they achieve success? Do we pride it on being famous or the amount of money one earns. Success isn't a measure nor is it something to live by, you live with purpose and self worth and you treat success as something that comes from the sense of fulfilment. For what its worth a measure of success only kills yo quicker, depletes your bones quicker and drains you thinner. You will see, strive for it by all means don't pride your work over it, don't pride ones self of it as it should not be a measure but more a feeling. I am not one anymore to paint for success , I paint because I cant stop dreaming about colours and textures, I paint to get rid of the thoughts that keep me awake at night , I paint to show how i see the world in which i stay for a bit. Success to me used to be how many people love my art, or buy it for that matt

 Human Nature A collision took place on a orbit due to a gas giant combusting, jarring millions of tones of formations together to create solid foundations. Foundations that ; in most case are uninhabitable , yet in some cases able to hold life, or at least the very basic necessities. Billions of years pass and people still feel unfulfilled , unworthy , unlucky , hard done to , need I carry on. I hear of people wallowing in self pity because they cant make a difference , I see millennials thrive to make an impact. Yet we fail to realise it was chance that put us here. Chance is what put us here and chance is what will take us out. Thrive over the wrong thing , cry over the smallest doubt, now look , clinically depressed for all the wrong reasons. But is there a right reason. For me , to thrive would be to do what makes you happy. But to thrive doesn't always mean to live , live comfortably or live at all, when did the value of thriving increase so much it forces us into jobs we don