And I Wonder ... 💭

If you know, what it means, to find your dreams come true. 

    I honestly do wonder, every single day. Every single waking second. From first light, peering into my half-shut eyelids. To the old familiar darkness of the long nights ahead. The never-ending decay of society and time around us, as the chaos continues to dance into the end. 

    I do wonder, if you know what it means to find your dreams come true. Because as of right here, as of right now- I do not. 

    I know now what it is that my dreams are chasing. I do not know what it is that my soul yearns for. As I sit in bed, starring into the ceiling, lost in the void. Shouting into the abyss, with nobody else around to hear me scream. Fighting violently against all the rage within me, trying my best to keep it together for just one more night. I do not know what it is that my dreams are trying to achieve through me. And at this point, I’m getting afraid that I may never find out. 

    To live a lifestyle, where all that matters is creation. To spend every single moment, obsessed with nothing more than what truly lies ahead. Not the chaos, not the anxieties of tomorrow. Not the making of ends meet, as you run away paying endless bills. Not the constant panicking and worrying, that your life is slowly fading into oblivion. Not the constant torture of the artists soul, dying underneath a sea of paper trails. Something more. Something deeper. Something greater than what the eye can see.

    The light is fading. The window, closing. The possibilities, which used to run rampant within my brain- they’re slowly dying. The pain of coming to realization, that the very dream of life, is slowly slipping from your grasp. 

    But what can one do? How can one stand up and fight it? Should one simply throw away all ambition, and decided to go completely mad? For I, my friend, have already tried it. I’ve allowed madness to take over and steer the wheel. And let me tell you- it isn’t anywhere as luxurious as it seems.

    Being pulled apart, in a world screaming for clarity. Drowning in information, with no knowledge in sight. The constant promotion of lesser artists, producing lesser pieces of art. Those who simply create for value, rather than pure creation itself. The very hijacking of ones soul, turned over into nothing more than capital for the machine.

    The pain of this world, it kills me. The insides of the fire, slowly die with rage. For the anger held within me, cannot contain this madness for eternity. Eventually, the artist must come out and play. And when he does- nothing shall ever be the same.

    I do wonder, if one truly knows how it feels, to find their dreams come true. I do wonder, if one can know how to truly feel. For is it the art inside of us, that we are dying to give birth to? Or is it simply ourselves, which we wish for the world to see?

    Does the artist create the art, or is the art truly just the artist being?

And for that, I truly wonder, if one can know, how it feels …