The Inspiring Fractures of Others.

Art is what makes my heart. Beat through my body at rapid speed. Many say I consume only for greed.  I've been consuming a lot of art, or has it been consuming me? I keep taking and taking, everything. I take their words, the structures, the pauses and ink. I take the poses, the colors, the borders, the reink. I ingrain it.  Once it clicks , I sink my claws in. An I look at the creators, in a gaze of admiration and fear. Both a deadly mix. Shake, I brake. They know the contents of my brain. Derived from pain, they make sad beauties. Did they hear my own stories? Too many  think that the marks they make. Are a lively yellow hue, a piece that brings out the best in you. They can't see. Its tainted with blue. Sad blue, navy, royal, all your creations end up like you. Hear the echo. The sound that bellows, crescendo  the blue to black. Only those with a trained eye can see, the little splatters, speckles drifted along the works. We see those slivers of blue, some more black. An I relish in that fact. I fear. I admire.  I'm wonderfully inspired. Those tear streaked moments are now empires, those sad whimpers are now screams of adoration, the insults turned to praise.  Gain from it, don't fall. Pain is not sacred at all. Ignore the contents of your brain, embrace the equilibrium. A artist, a poet, a creative strips life from themselves and plaster it on their decided medium. I fear. I cry. I adore it all in its unholy sights.  I consume, hoping one day.