Like graffiti, the thoughts in my head are messy, and displeasing. Too many colours, too much passion. A walk through the chaos leads you to art, to abstract emotions and unexplored territories. The fires you put out, the gutters you walked in and the shame they rubbed in your face start making sense. The clot under my skin is a tattoo, every injury, an artist. At its best, pain is a melody inside your body, you can either scream or sing. You see, everything creates something and sometimes, even nothing.