Masterpiece.

I painted yesterday, and the day before. Understand that sometimes it just doesn't feel right and then nothing comes out. No picture in the final product to express what you were feeling. Because when you go to show what you feel, you paint and paint until the colors run together; until nothing about what you have felt can be determined. Nothing except the color black. A pensive soul. But then... how could you paint anything other? A color a day. Absent a color a day. Oh, master of grey, the shiniest darkness. A seemingly empty canvas. You live like a man whose been ruled by 'the faith' his entire life. Somewhat like me; that timeless 'likeness.' But I at least stand proudly, freely I live or at least I try. Sacrifice is no longer up for negotiation. And... when questioned about 'what to do' or 'what do you do?' Tell them you live, refracting until right. The perfect color; your reflection. A masterpiece.