Is there another way I could do my favourite things?
Is there another flight I could take
Is there another flight I could miss?

Is there another birth I could live?
Let me correct myself, are there a handful of lives I am unaware of?

For colours they are all too many
My painting is getting dirty
My strokes are overlapping

This intricate balancing act between high pressure and low, patience and panic, morning and evening mellows is making my bones too aware of their presence

And obviously, my painting is slowly losing its paintedness

Is there a better way to do this?
I know its weird, ever unasked for...
But I'm trying to develop clear from crass here
And my painting is losing it's self