Self awareness is an issue, disregarded in blood stained tissue. They’d much rather look to the sky to escape the sea of sparkling pebbles. There’s one with a face soaked in stereotype, crying out to the stars, mocking their shine. To feel better ,about the never ending chain of emotion they can’t control. She’d much rather run with scissor-hands cutting through her obstacle than finding paper to build weightless stairs. To reach great heights, not to get high. There’s a difference. In walking with a chest of badges and not getting stabbed by their weight. You see, escapism is a problem when you try to find external sources other than the internal source. You’d rather hold hands with bottles than with friends. Sniffing around life like you've got an eternal flu. You see, it’s finding escapism in things you can’t touch, see or feel. To be blind with the eyes of the universe and deaf to blurred music. She’d rather run from her problems then face them dead on, halt like a soldier in a war with an untimely end. To whisper to the moon that it’s side will forever shun from you but no matter what, you’ll still bask in it’s glow.
Sure, not everyone can see the light distorting the background of their dreams. But nonetheless, it’s there. In a cave of doubt, dug by yourself. Let’s conclude in saying, escapism is healthy when it’s done in the safety of the moonlight. Where the thunder from god’s heel doesn’t strike but gently caresses the land with wisps of refreshing serenity. That place is inside you, where your body mangles with potions of your deep desire to only find a drink worth taking. Is it worth the dry eyes , empty stomach, to lay in bed and hug the ceiling with your stolen ambitions? Those dry lips would agree, that veins inked in substance is rejected by the heart , and in doing so death will become your shadow. Not only to you, but the pavement underneath, having to bare witness to the living dead. Your empty footprint will pattern it’s skin, and your corpse will be it’s graffiti. You’ve allowed this to happen, for inanimate object to speak to you in ways a lover couldn’t.
-Fear emotion-
- The two artworks -source: Christopher Mckenney