Are becoming so rough but nimble in my arms.
They are fading away so fast that I can't explain
or hold on.
Dare I say this world is too narcissistic to tell itself
its too frail?
I can not even fathom the thought.

Now the curves take place and the line that was
once flawless is over turned and moving around me,
constricting, until I am
no more.
I take a look into myself for a moment and find
nothing.

The work of art that I have just
spilled onto my canvas has not hit me yet.
Maybe one day it will.
Even now, showing my fruits of knowledge,
which are carelessly placed onto this canvas,
have absolutely no effect on me.

And it is right then and there that I realize
that I do dare to criticize the world, and humanity
and shoot its high horse down, bringing it to my level.
It is right then and there that I want to crush my painting
in my palms.
It is right then and there that I am flooded with a million emotions.

It is right then and there that I say the world is eternally damned
to Hell.
It is right then and there that I realize
that I did not break my line
My line broke me.