through feathered pens inked with blood and a scarred soul of overflowing abysmal ideologies; there sits an obscured entity, scribbling metaphors and ironies in a crumpled paper of her chaos, seeking for something out of all nothings.
and here she u...
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[ warning: vulgar themes and profanities ]
we were birthed into the planet of mortal fuckeries from the matriarchy of vaginas, nurtured by feminine touches of maternal love, and then utterly deteriorated like the ruins of ancient greece. this, this is what i deemed to be an artistic ritual for unadulterated juveniles metamorphosing into obstreperous sinners with utterly fucked-up souls.
isnʼt it intoxicating - the loss of innocence?
we were bruised by the fluctuation of the strangest entities and scarred by every traumatic sight we have beheld in our own dilated pupils; transparent corneas tainted with the lust for mischief and irises glinting with hues of obscurity. we were - are - insatiably ravenous for the art of fucking everything up.
and then, just like the disparate parallelism of vincent van gogh and charles bukowski, we did fuck everything up. as how itʼs supposed to be. however, just like these two men eslaved by society and whateverʼs in between, we have also found solace and serenity in art.
art.
ART.
PRETTY LITTLE FUCKING ART.
we have lost our naivety and sanity; we have susceptibly succumbed unto the tenebrous dungeon confined by the dominating monsters of society that held us in our clutches like stringed puppets and submissive mannequin dolls.
and then thereʼs fucking art.
a beautiful therapy. a fluid kinetic flow of body movement. a melodious tune of freedom. a kaleidoscopic stroke of brush. a poetic scribble of metaphors. a puzzle piece with no definite form, capable of saving souls from the labyrinth of delirium and hysteria.
we still want to die for the art of an atrocious death, and we still want to live for the art of a decelerated life. we want to both exist and not, all for the sake of fucking art.
life is a nonexistent penis or vagina, fucking us into oblivion, and art was every pleasure and orgasm felt in between.
![[ warning: vulgar themes and profanities ]](https://img.wattpad.com/0b99080745391ade0579b5866cde07547221cced/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f387644554c2d374e6c52533233773d3d2d3334382e313665396162633761323038343933353238353738373734343636332e6a7067?s=fit&w=720&h=720)
