She...so beautiful in her uniqueness...a stream of contradictions, wild yet delicate...a self-destructive nature hidden in wisdom and beauty She conquers in her failures, she captivates in her wrath. A blood doll, a child of darkness...lost in her nocturnal promenade of death in her way to oblivion, yet the grace she radiates in her macabre dance enraptures the artistic heart. She... the effusion of light frolicking in the all consuming shadows, hurts this eyes long used to the darkness. Like staring at the sun in a clear day...blinded by the magnificent radiance...
But alas! Not unlike Icarus, drunk by the passion of the stirrings in the soul, in his foolhardiness to get close to the sun, I shall fall in disgrace. For this daystar that shines in darkness, is far away from my grasp. How can I be so naive...? To have the presumptuousness to even think that such beauty would look at one as lowly as me? Me...the artist, the gentleman, the visionary...the fool. Able to conceive beauty, children of my creativity, yet not having beauty in myself. A Beast with no Beauty to love him...fables and tales being creations of idealistic imaginations. Reality has no place for happy endings.
Therefore...this somber artist must learn to live with what he can achieve, with what is within his possibilities...The emotions of sorrow and longing transformed into works of art of dark aesthetics...forever without finding the meaning of that which is called love, but always having inspiration in his desires.
