Suck it all up.

Dreams are like clouds formed above your head.

And images appearing bit by bit,

forming up like puzzles.

But with a blow,

and it became falling pieces.

Why am i only able to write when i'm unhappy?

Writing should be fun, so does drawing too.

Sometimes too much of the clouds,

will somehow pollute your inner brain.

And screw everything up.

I think i need to get a vaccum cleaner.

C.K.