Art is my last bastion.
A tiny empire,
Walls made up of lines,
Drawn with my finger in the dust.
Evidence of time.
My own,
Mostly.
Drawing Away.
Hourglasses never bothered me.
Brain always fired faster – than such falling grains of sand.
So here I am.
Standing before infinite void,
Everything after.
Pitch black.
Beyond our sight.
Lines In Dust.
