So I found the art gallery ive been trying to understand let alone feel. Its all about making sense out of something soo strange. Imagine an infant seeing a photograph for the first time. Its one of those exposures that takes little to no thought to interpret its purpose. We're all born with a memory, its this clinginess inside us all thats part of our nature. It resonates with the sights and smiling faces. I never knew, i've been lying because i've never been.
The gallery itself is roomy, but instead of all the works floating like celestial bodies in time and space, their hanging against white walls. Im just in the middle staring at them, seems like ive been standing there a while just looking at the same painting. Not to take away anything from the relevence of the others, theres nothing phenominal here to figure out. The imagery itself pays minute tribute to clarity, its pointless really. Its not me staring into a mirror, whether or not thats cliche id favor the impending gratitude of the scenario even if it was just a hopeful sensation while failure was inevitable.
Its about how all of this doesnt fit and I just stand there waiting for something to click. Soo many have witnessed the calamity soo deranged and beyond the excuse of it being indisposed. Im obliged within those four walls to atleast feel. Its the minds compensation, struggling, having total disregard to the futilities. Something out there stopped loving me. Praise you, your bigger than I am.
Lifes there to compromise structural integrity, the world is enchanted to collapse one day. Thats magic we all wish we could call broken. In that event I hope I have someone to hold.
The gallery itself is roomy, but instead of all the works floating like celestial bodies in time and space, their hanging against white walls. Im just in the middle staring at them, seems like ive been standing there a while just looking at the same painting. Not to take away anything from the relevence of the others, theres nothing phenominal here to figure out. The imagery itself pays minute tribute to clarity, its pointless really. Its not me staring into a mirror, whether or not thats cliche id favor the impending gratitude of the scenario even if it was just a hopeful sensation while failure was inevitable.
Its about how all of this doesnt fit and I just stand there waiting for something to click. Soo many have witnessed the calamity soo deranged and beyond the excuse of it being indisposed. Im obliged within those four walls to atleast feel. Its the minds compensation, struggling, having total disregard to the futilities. Something out there stopped loving me. Praise you, your bigger than I am.
Lifes there to compromise structural integrity, the world is enchanted to collapse one day. Thats magic we all wish we could call broken. In that event I hope I have someone to hold.
