I dispised my twenties,
The decade of depression.
I can count happy memories on a hand and a half,
And all of them were an escape from the life I lived.
Escaping myself was heaven,
Pouring myself onto paper was an affordable five-minute replacement.
I wrote a lot.
And as ugly as the era was,
Pain paints a beautiful picture.
Perhaps that is why PAINT is an art.
The art of survival.