Dark cloud follows me now, finger reaching shadows, grabbing, Only I dodge its grasp. But the things that don't normally bother me haunt me now. Swallowing dread, Hoping I reach for sun, Only it burns, So I turn to face shadows. Flashback to the moments when my mother said, "Everything you make is ugly." The reel in my head rewinds and plays that phrase over and over again. Stuck in a moment when I walked home to find my father stripping the wooden chest I had lovingly and painstakingly stenciled while he said, "I am sorry she just wouldn't shut up. And now I know what this is about, chasing demons away swaying exhaustion into a depressive phase I fall. Black flower enfolds, sad screams my music, fighting dark love, the shadow song Of scorching hot sun Do I dare to paint to write to draw to make the ugliest things of all? Fighting I create One song to sing Spun of velvet cloth Sopping up sorrows Of darkest tomorrows Yes it will be a new day A different way In the morrow.