The Artist and His Farts

I had a wonderful time heading away in the passing of time...no, I don't mean anything superficial, just artisticle. That is, if you can handle it to make believe/belief of sanity for painted trees with mites in the leaves, feelings tease. Now isn't that a darling choice of word/meat for the mind? Seriously, I have been thinking wish wash for quite some time..and a few more nights would have been over the top, pops! The reality of doing what we/i want was as of yet unknown to me but it revealed itself all along the passageways, all dark and stained. The blood i feel must flow again, must let it exist in rapture for my soul to capture my holy fracture..nevermind/ I am behind but grow in finding that out which blinds my clout in face of doubt from the catastrophe's and histories. I breathe and am that more whole this time in soul recognizing truth pacing movement in creative genius. The bro said, why aren't you an/the artist, and I replied inside, "i never tried because i already died, making me watch the ants cry, I, senseless straggler proof of nigh! It was not time but now I learned to fly"; so be scared little one's as I am as resurrected as the paint does dry.