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Last night I dreamt of a lonely man who had lost everything but pain. He wrote his sadness into stories and thought that maybe they weren’t so bad. One day he showed his stories to a poet. The poet rejected his writing, said that he had no talent. So the lonely man drowned himself in the river, near the harbor. He came back as a bird with mangled wings and leapt from the nearest tower. Broken and bleeding, he was still alive. Cats came from all directions and began to eat him in pieces.
“I’ll never fly, will I?”

Collage/Acrylic – Van Gogh, Da Vinci, & Misc. Prints

View More Last night I dreamt of a lonely man who had lost everything but pain. He wrote his sadness into stories and thought that maybe they weren’t so bad. One day he showed his stories to a poet. The poet rejected his writing, said that he had no talent. So the lonely man drowned himself in the river, near the harbor. He came back as a bird with mangled wings and leapt from the nearest tower. Broken and bleeding, he was still alive. Cats came from all directions and began to eat him in pieces.
“I’ll never fly, will I?”
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