when you feel fucked up with everything,
drawing happy children and soft marshmallow-coloured skies doesnt work one bit.
now, art is screwed like a piece of over made-up wrapping paper.

must, must... get a book.

maybe these are just the defects of staying home for too long.
and not muttering more than 5 lines per day :(

dont understand,
you're not even mine to start with

invaded my dreams, in a mc.ronald suit and a balloon that made me fly.
havent laughed that way, in 719 days.

werent days like that, in the past?
should have just left things in a bottle.