They say you can’t love anyone else unless you love yourself. However, if you love yourself too much, you wont love anyone else. It’s all part of a facade where you mimic those who are capable of loving but know deep down you’ll care about no one else. Routes of extremities are sometimes taken to earn love for yourself, but if you can’t even love yourself for who you are, then is it even real?

We live in a giant painting we call reality, and what’s sad is that this painting is alive. Evolutionary and evolving into an abstract. Lines and borders are crossed and we justify it with artsy fartsy bullshit that sounds as fancy as we want to look. Abstract paintings never made any sense to me, nor does it invoke my will to yearn for it. “Savage milk,” are you kidding me?


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