Another mural created with the creatures of my subconsciousness.
Words of all design become my paint.
Nothing & no one can constraint, dictate, debate, taint, or in other word repaint the words I put weight on.
All the murals I create come from my neural.
My moments of insanity clutter & become blots of paint coded with the rust which then becomes tetanus.
The only antibiotic is the space between the lines.
The creatures of my subconscious choose the colors I use to create my memoirs of tragedy, Pain, and torment.
This not a call for help.
This is just a testament of being through the worst.
Crazy of where I find sentiment.
I'm not looking for an estimate.
The damage done can never be undone…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem