CREATION




      
                        CREATION  creativity stories
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soulstitch_04
soulstitch_04 aesthetically aestivating
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
On the beautiful, awe-inspiring process of creating something utterly, unabashedly new. Dedicated to every creator, in every field.

CREATION

“Anything can happen. That’s the beauty of creating.” -Ernie Harwell

Just when I think I have found

Just when I think I have found the lost name of my reflection,

the universe

the universe condenses into my irises

the universe condenses into my irises, and my freckles

the universe condenses into my irises, and my freckles are suddenly made of stardust.

My gaze the universe condenses into my irises, and my freckles are suddenly made of stardust.

My gaze is a collision of black holes the universe condenses into my irises, and my freckles are suddenly made of stardust.

My gaze is a collision of black holes, and my smiles the universe condenses into my irises, and my freckles are suddenly made of stardust.

My gaze is a collision of black holes, and my smiles, a supernova. the universe condenses into my irises, and my freckles are suddenly made of stardust.

There’s still something left in me

There’s still something left in me, after all.

And as the cobwebs begin to shake

And as the cobwebs begin to shake, and dream-droplets begin to fall,

I see fireworks in the void

I see fireworks in the void, aggrandising

I see fireworks in the void, aggrandising like hibernating buds-

I see fireworks in the void, aggrandising like hibernating buds- a riot

I see fireworks in the void, aggrandising like hibernating buds- a riot, a carnival,

I see fireworks in the void, aggrandising like hibernating buds- a riot, a carnival, a revolution.

The uphill release of adrenaline aggrandising like hibernating buds- a riot, a carnival, a revolution.

The uphill release of adrenaline, a staccato pulse in my nerves like hibernating buds- a riot, a carnival, a revolution.

The uphill release of adrenaline, a staccato pulse in my nerves, drunkenly tracing a riot, a carnival, a revolution.

The uphill release of adrenaline, a staccato pulse in my nerves, drunkenly tracing the path to utopia.

Swathe over swathe of an asymmetric deluge

Swathe over swathe of an asymmetric deluge, dipped in the beauty of mistake.

No longer fallow,

creating

creating, and creating

creating, and creating, and creating through breathless strokes

creating, and creating, and creating through breathless strokes, aimless lines

creating, and creating, and creating through breathless strokes, aimless lines, their symphony and scent lapping against my soul.

Unspooling creating, and creating through breathless strokes, aimless lines, their symphony and scent lapping against my soul.

Unspooling, forgetting creating through breathless strokes, aimless lines, their symphony and scent lapping against my soul.

Unspooling, forgetting, teetering till strokes, aimless lines, their symphony and scent lapping against my soul.

Unspooling, forgetting, teetering till the last drop of ink their symphony and scent lapping against my soul.

Unspooling, forgetting, teetering till the last drop of ink, the final gush of blood lapping against my soul.

Unspooling, forgetting, teetering till the last drop of ink, the final gush of blood, the ultimate fire breath

Unspooling, forgetting, teetering till the last drop of ink, the final gush of blood, the ultimate fire breath and.....

The creation is complete

The creation is complete- born of the cosmos

The creation is complete- born of the cosmos, gifted to the creator

The creation is complete- born of the cosmos, gifted to the creator, for none to judge.

Just when I think I have sensed

Just when I think I have sensed the purpose of my reflection,

the universe

the universe slowly seeps out of my spent self

the universe slowly seeps out of my spent self, with neither pain nor promise

the universe slowly seeps out of my spent self, with neither pain nor promise, and leaves me

the universe slowly seeps out of my spent self, with neither pain nor promise, and leaves me waiting for its return.

- soulstitch

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