As fleeting as it seems, worlds shifts- corrodes as mere amenities. For these be such realities. As it drips and melts. As lines weave and meld. To colours or more. A placidity that soars. A canvas that remains as such lores. As violent as she be adored. Abstracts that corrodes; reality. Would there be an allegory? A soul trapped to sell my story? An art thats costly. As worlds collide and corrode; a blank slate. For the believers to see. For the sceptics to see. A grim, overlooked work. Would there be any less? A sight where ghouls weep- a reality that is distorted so deep. Does it hold any glee? Despair lies where these melded realities cries.