Whim Photograph - Limited Edition of 10

And if I were to speak the volumes of my mind Would def minds betray me Practicing the look of caring and interest Maybe it was me all along, the one crazy Wolves in sheep's clothing Wen so jubilant Wen so over zealous to speak these words of God to me But yet he wears a surrounding cloak of gray static And his soul feels heavy Like a man filled fully of soiled regret + guilt His soul speaks to me in whispers Words not ment for ears And I yet again must be insane To see such things, its an illness I am the yellow peeling water damaged wallpaper I may be this But I see clearly I observe an analytical best My heart is amored to the teeth My soul is a bright star My vessel has always been a disposable dress I wear I am worn I am war torn and sovereign I am a displaced memory I am the forgotten born The only absolute is my survival Until an expiration finds me I will be watching as I am the peeling damp greenish yellow adorning the walls