The beauty that captivates an observer of absolute chaos
is the beauty of things falling in their place.
Numbers and figures does that too, and this beauty is not reserved
just for soft organic lines.
Jagged be the geometric patterns with its' cutting edges and bleeds of corners
all within containing soft edges like golden ratios.
Everyone has something to say and we're all painting something
and those intents we hold, some have rights to be expressed.
Aren't you art itself?
I paint you so golden in my head because I don't know you and I
haven't seen your thorns. From afar, all you are to me
is this almost-perfect idea of a person.
Disillusionment? Does this mean you're showing the prettiest side of you now?
Is there another in the shadow?
I don't know you. But I would love to get to know you.
Then, maybe the gold will fade, and I will see different colours
or I won't see colours at all.
Will you be ivory, marble smooth just like David?
Our heads have firewalls, you see. That's what I thought.
I think in lines and pieces.
Your mind is complicated, a beautiful mess.
Your colour and lines, the shape you're taking, in all realness.
I think I just think that you'd be beautiful too even if you don't have
firewalls inside your head.
