My Creative Wrongs

An artist stuck in his works that he's studied for the longest
From his depression to his anxiety to his love for poetry, to his love for creativity to his love for writing out his own stories without a care in the world.
He's no Da Vinci nor Michaelangelo, but yet he invents and creates his own art that spill from his mind like a glass of red wine.
An artist is what he views himself as, trapped in his own drawings, given cuts and scars from the wars he has fought.
Brain almost as distorted and scrambled like eggs, his mind stuck between the wrong and the rights but yet he should give up but no these struggles give him a reason to fight back in this war.
A war where he struggles and can't seem to complete the configurations that'll please his reasons for treason, leaving him to rip himself apart starting from his heart that he....he...he no longer wants, that he no longer desires to feel beat in his chest.
But yet he desires to keep his brain intact for that it's what holds his words, life lessons, memories, his happiness and stories that he creates and keeps hold of and locks away, fore that these aren't stories he's willing to share nor to acknowledge amongst others. These stories of his, these lessons he's been taught, these fears of his that he struggles to fight against but doesn't stop fighting cause his will power is his engine, his spark, his motivation to keep pushing and kicking back those demons that try to temper with his mind, this will power he holds pushes back the negative thoughts that attempt to cloud his motor but no.
He will not fall into darkness, he will follow the little brightness of light he has left, even if he had to create more by his own, he knows his motives, he knows he only has one chance, he's the artist stuck in his works, trapped in his own drawings where he never has to submit to any wrongs because in these drawings he strives for what's right.

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