Have you ever walk in the woods alone, force yourself to go further with delicate fear. Or ever imagine heading through to night, naked. Surrounded by the sound of the orbit of emptiness, space flowing in your eyes.

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what am I, what am I

Am I a painter, trying to paint all the unknowns or am I a muse with magic flute, salvation of childhood...am I a bleeding poet...

 

well then,
lets be real, no rush
the only original thing is me
One in me...

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'Go on, try as you may, you won't find that night
Another shape of us hidden under the vines,
Rebellious to the core...'