Flesh (or Ink) - An Introduction

An introduction

The thoughts in his head were beating, eating away at the edges of his sanity. He felt like a bottle of something not meant to be contained. He sat on the edge of reality, dipping in and out of nitpicking his dreams and his life. No amount of complexity he unraveled made him feel as capable as he'd been told he was. If that was hard to read, know, it was hard to type, - harder to think. No amount of achievement or suffering seemed to settle his soul. He found no anchor to his identity, he was fluid. Energy. Raw and often unguided. He picked up a pen. He made his energy ink. He sketched his mind and produced in the one format he rarely consumed, the only way he know to do so. The only medium with no barrier to entry, for me. Inept he felt. Inept i feel. But it is flesh that portrays itself plainly, so it was only natural. Ink. Blood. Flesh. All one for me. Thank you for reading.