I entered this world pure as light,
barren, smooth, meticulously white,
though quickly defiled with desires,
corrupted by eyes blind to sight.

Inward looking for what inspires,
not calm, but chaos to aspire,
unexplored possibilities.
Secrets now fueled and set to fire.

Undertaking hostilities,
nightmarishly tuned as are these,
requires but subtle restraint,
that dreams may also be appeased.

I make no audible complaint,
while I am so forced to acquaint,
with such colors ‘til I grow faint,
not a canvas, but a pile of paint.