image my fetish

sketchWhenever i do it, they say i don’t have work. However i finnish, they don’t give a fuck. No thanks to them, i shall not stop. Deep inside my blood, this gift runs hot.

This is my sacred, my diety, my love. Though little it looks, i will not fuss. For its a treasure in vast measure. As i’ve seen those that lost it suffer its beauty stall.

Scrible, scrible, scrible, is the sound of my pen. Jargons of rough sketches is what you stare. Beauty from dept of my soul is what gushes out. How the hell did you do that, finally it beholds.

The paper was blank. The pencil laid down. Nothing could become of it ever. Until an idea becomes their life saver.

What idea? My idea. My idea? Great inspiration. Great inspiration? The almighty’s aspiration. Almighty’s aspiration? God’s creation. God’s creation? Art. Art? My fetish.

Yeah, its what i love the most.


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