CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: so sick - ne-yo
inky confession ----> i'm just a painter, and i'm drawing a blank.

my mind, fried. my back, aching. my heart, broken. my fingers, stained. my eyes, hallow.

i don't feel well.

four words are nowhere equal to this.. pain. this depression.
but why waste my breath.

what is the cause of this?
surely it can't be art. i love art. . .

it's been days, and i still feel like an inanimate pile of crap.
why?