The commonplace irreparable masterpiece – a mind caught by all of the constant and discomforting chaos

What ten thousand hours of learning to survive might just feel like – wound up yet still recklessly ready

No such pressure to adhere but for the immoveable pressure she places upon her own frozen bones which do bounce like clockwork crazy

Every other early-a.m.

To brush her gritted teeth and to face the mirror of deadlocking demons one at a time all awhile about to start at studying a jaded, tested and desirably travailed destiny

The crawling canvas had a home of its own long before the scene invited her affably in – promisingly, a camouflaged piece of hieroglyphic brilliance met with insistent precision

And the jilt of the tilting pen carries undeniable pressure points – argumentatively, to artificially anoint her the chosen one noose let loose for now not ever again

With that acoustic ghost floating over her paralysed shoulders, building invisible boulders

But what if the achievement simply lies in the ability to proceed however otherwise catastrophized? Is this the miserly illustrative existence of one artist and her pulsating in-between? She will need to whisper the answer near our still singing ear

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