through the valley of the shadow of death

I live in the world that my parents made for me
I was raised in hell
and I live in prison
(and I'm more sick of it than anyone else could be)

I don't want to paint today
I don't want to do anything
I don't want to not do anything
I don't want to not want to do anything
I don't know what to do with myself
I'm tired
of running on excitement and stimulation
it's a restless energy
depleting
when it's happening I continue and don't notice
adrenaline
of learning
feeling like I'm getting closer to something
but there is nothing to get closer to
nothing
and there is no salve that will store up enough
to change the level of the ground

I went to artschool for a long time,
know lots of artists,
still learning about the way they work,
the different ones, who are not me
didn't learn anything about that somehow
when I was in school

I'm happy, I'm happy, I'm happy I'm happy
I'm happy and the more I say I'm happy do
you believe me less? I'm tired of being
happy because I'm happy, I'm happy I'm happy
I'm so damn happy that I want to...

I can feel the adrenaline running again.
My emotions flow and I can't stop them.
sometimes I can watch them like they don't belong to me
and that is nice, but not natural, whatever the
buddhists might tell you.

How they come out are not always what they really
are but the intensity does not vary from the source
so if I'm red violence it might really be blue sad

dirty feather floats down encrusted with dried blood
and bird skin, the symphony plays louder and then turns,
time opens her wings, yarn spreads apart, sounds of slowed down
helicopters, cymbals crashing down, seen from a distance,
far far away

this is private
this is mine
we can not be here together because I will protect you from this. you can watch it in a film. it's nothing new. it's not uncommon. it's just not somewhere people can be together, in person. It's a one person thing, even though there is acting.