My soul is the over-washed tie dye sweatshirt slowly unwinding through its tired threads. It is the wick waiting in the mauve wax, of my first candle. Burning most nights to the sounds of surrounding solitude. Held up by shelves, overfilled with random albums and old books, forgotten about. Hopelessly relying on the rim of my acrylic frames, reassuring my limited sight of the iridescent sky at night. Watercolor painted with its dim clouds and hidden stars. Designed to be viewed vaguely by the naked eye, as if its visions I cannot grasp for my future.