It’s 3 am. I am tired, and wired. I traveled nine-hundred miles today, driving for five-hundred. But somehow, time flew by so quickly but without sleep I’m feeling a little sick, like some sort of brittle stick barely hanging onto the Mother Tree.
I can’t get their noises out of my head.
justice is blind,
justice is chained.
pen and watercolor on canvas.
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(via itakethewords)
the ambassador.
acrylic, oil, pencil and pen on canvas.
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There are those trees
that come but do not leave;
those trees that die
but plant their seed.
There are those trees
that let loose and fly for the sea;
those trees that only look
beautiful for a week.
I had to pretend I was a dinosaur
so that I could trick myself to eat broccoli more.
I am big, you are small.
You are a tree after all.
Come with your leaves and leave me.
Your passion in the roots cannot save me.
I sleep in your high-tops,
not afraid to fall to the rocks.
Tell your body to follow me
to the next scene, where green leaves
turn into magic and machinery.
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