Make Me Better

  Like a junkie looking for a needle, I have come to the terms that I need you, and not in a life or death but what to expect when all I think of...is...you. My mind paints vivid imagery while I fight a losing battle with my bed, for now my dreams are colorful and exciting when they used to be lonely and dead. Used to dream about the multiple mortality of my own sanity, when in actuality it was myself who was dying. I sat around drawing and designing pictures of death, despair, and all around hell. Now sure everyone's hell is different but hell is still hell. Went from being an artist with pictures to being an artists with words. With my writing, I'm able to tap into that part of the mind that develops  a scene from what is being read. I describe dreams so intensely that you, yourself will think you dreamt them. I obliterate your realistic point of view and switch it with something that cartoon characters would find hilarious and childish. Dreams of the apocalypse and of flowers turning into ash. My stories are those that depress, cause stress and just all around ruin your day. Why? No idea just cause that's how I felt whenever I was writing. Has that mood changed? Hell yes, now no longer despair but strength and power. I've become a poet, an intellectual dangerously delicious author whose work can make you lose yourself in thought. That Angel I've mentioned in the past, has changed who I was. If I was great by myself, I must be unstoppable with her by my side...