The Creator

It is his own personal and self constructed domain, a nest of idols and icons
hiding the emptiness that accompanies them, silently inflicting an unnoticeable mind dulling effect among him, who praises them every hour of the day. Such feelings of
loneliness and isolation can make an individual attach themselves to a hollow promise or an
illusion of belonging. It can make love disperse into rage and a constant coma
of disarray. Beyond anything you can fathom, a remarkable place only the creator can
relate to, a place only he has a sense of belonging in. A place where anyone but him will collapse
under the pressure of its odd environment.

Here, in this very room, new objects are given personalities and are linked
to his very own. Every action, sinful or not, alters the perspective of
these objects. But in reality it only alters the being of him, the creator.

Ignorance is thriving in every corner, desperately gasping to overcome.
outside the concrete walls are visions that have yet to be experienced.
He is able, but because his nest wouldn't be the same without him, he never leaves, he
overextends his welcome.

Constant noise in the background becomes unnoticeable, for they have been there far too long.
He despises the chatter, but adapts and grows fond of it. As time slips away, he becomes
dependent. Frivolous objects consume the once vacant shelves, but serve a purpose.
When absent, this place ceases to thrive with the life only viewable through his perspective.

Some say he will never leave, but i know him best, and he hasn't a clue. He only
molds what is given to him.

He is I,

and when these thoughts and illusions have died away and dissolve into a memory of time wasted, this will become unused space, for the next creator to leave
his invisible mark.