I'm energized and thinking that everything brand-spanking awesome. It's strange how few more hours of sleep change my personality so repidly. Although, my brain is in the dumps, I'm feeling great.



Explosion on surface of limitless canvas,

It scattered the limbs, disembodied the heads.

With the flames from the bombing

And the paint cruelly brushed

Artist murders by millions the people he loved.

Arms and legs and the lips contorted in smiles

Small ambitions that grew from pit of the hate.

There, the fingers without a bone strum the air

There the strings of guitar sound without the hand.

There you see, eye of his smugly gleefully sneering.

His design proved to shock the becurioused minds.

Yet the people he loved, keep on burning and hurting

There was no one to end massacre of his art.


@настроение: When the heck will it get warm again?