illuminatedvelocity

As my senior year of high school comes closer to the half way marker, I am reminded of how many memories I will have to look back on. They float past me already, the memories, they waver past me like a dying butterfly floats down towards cold grass. Good and bad, they appear, and I think nothing of it.
As for my future, I look on with large, anxious eyes.

It's happened...
I can't draw anymore
and if I can't draw I can't go to the colleges I've applied for an art major
and if I can't go to college I wont get a decent paying job
and if I don't get a decent paying job I'll end up working at a crummy joint that pays in tokens
and if I work at a crummy joint I'll end up living with my mother so I can afford things
and If I live with my mother I don't have independence and I never reach my full potential and I'll never be fully happy and I'll end up being an old spinster that owns a shed for a house and never showers then dies who's neighbors will find a month later, her dead body's rotting odors waking them at 1:00 a.m in the morning...
                                                                            ...that is what the artistic block cycle is called.

Art
It is here, it is there.
I will add art from me.
I try my worst.
I will never be fully satisfied with my art,
hopin' I'm lion.
Delighted to enjoy you.