Sing to Me About the End of the World

Can I hold on to the world we all remember fighting for? Lately, the shades of blue have been getting more darker, holding me longer, pulling me down. I remember smiling a lot more in the past. What happened? Life happened, I guess. Plus, art never comes from happiness. And I'm an artist, aren't I? With pictures, with words, with emotions. Every day I get darker, but my art becomes more and more beautiful. That's what I was born for. That's what I dream about. But do I dream in vain? Do dreams even have anything to do with life? My twilight has become bruised, and the lights in my eyes have dimmed. I steer myself mindlessly forward in the hopes that something will come into my life and help me breathe again. Isn't that what I want? Or do I need to learn how to breathe again on my own? It varies from day to day. Sometimes all I do is pray for someone to come and end it, the pain. Sometimes I don't pray at all and sit in silence, stewing in the turmoil going on in the pit of my stomach, telling myself I can do it on my own. Sometimes I even can. I'll smile and laugh and write hopefully, filled with all of the imaginings of my childhood. But then, when I wake up the next morning, I just feel the same emptiness in my chest. Where is my journey? Where is my mission, my reason for living? I hope with all of my soul to get into Santa Fe Community College and escape into a world where I'll be happy. I let go when I paint. It comes out in the colors, the images, the tears of my subjects, the smiles, the embraces. I can see the color in what I do. That's why I want to major in art. I want to share that, with the world. I want to find relief in life, instead of agony. It's all that I dream.