Coming full circle--unable to sleep because of the voices in my head. Create until it kills and then create more until it kills again.

He fell into a hole so profound that it devoured his consciousness. He is an affliction now. He is contagious and he will never be the same again. To awaken him is wasted effort. Let him sleep his life away.

He paints the air with his pain; a pain brush it is called. He forcefully waves it in the air and the air bleeds, turning everything red, making everything one dimensional. Soon the whole world will be red with his pain and everyone will thank him for taking away what they never appreciated. Only when it is gone can they appreciate the color spectrum. They were blind and now they will never see again. "Thank you, boy with the magic wand" they cry as their tears wash over the earth but still it is all red with pain.

Pain does not forgive. The ability to heal is a myth constructed by the wounded.

Happiness is an unfortunate illusion.