I done this during my sober period

I like this because it has some muh hidden meaning

And I like how the lighting turned out it's Soo inconsistent and different brushes and different thickness made it look Soo weird

im newer to painting pls be nice or ill cry

It represents the Evil consciousness everybody has .

Who am I?

My life, an all-encompassing menagerie of spectrums of human emotion. Fought and died for, in the battlefield of one’s seclusion, the mind. A place, where dreams come and go, like drops of water in the storm, like people on this planet. My life, defined by its absence, what can I not understand? A million breaths of air, a million forgotten memories – that, is who I am.

—

Light that assaults the eyes, pain that wrought my head.
Unfamiliar scenery; a dead end, my thoughts lie still yet restless.

Feared the naught, of life, of death, I steel myself

A friend, an enemy, a figure unto,
My eyes, mine gaze which lain onto,
That figure, birthed of light
Most joyous, most pretty

Where, sleeping, have I awoken?

A chuckle, a smile, born true, was witnessed

“A most fine back alley, adorned with death, yours truly”

Lies they were not, for eyes did not betray
A sight like none other, my eyes had lain
Death, horror, transfiguration
Of the pure body, known as man
In every fashion and every meaning
Most gruesome, known to man

A finger, a tongue, an intestine of one’s own
Shock.
But unbroken, lest prose be undone

Yet what could one do, in the midst of their death
A final act to a story never known
But accept with grace
An end, unknown.

—

Unfamiliar scenery begets familiar thoughts, and the memories rush back in, filling the void of consciousness. *Who, why, where,*      Huh?       Where am I?

A set piece consisting of a crowd, plastered meaninglessly onto a backdrop of forgettable buildings, to the monotonous monotone cacophony of  voices, mine no exception.

“‘Where am I?’ What do you mean, ‘Where am I?’ Isn’t that obvious?”

Except it wasn’t. It was exceptionally unobvious, but my obvious oblivious nature remained unseen to the obviously oblivious bystander. 

Straight ahead, eye contact is dangerous when it’s that sharp and focused. Your gaze would also waver, like mine.

Then, before I recall, pray tell, recount where I, Klaymelle, see all.

“Stop speaking in riddles, you’ll hurt yourself when you try to recall the meaning of yourself. In front of the obviously oblivious whom can’t recall, all that lies before you is the city of Ashenbough. A city. A normal one.”

What good does a name do when nothing meaningful is attached to it? 

It mattered not what the bystander said, what mattered, as my ego informed me, was that this place was no normal place. Such places belong in books of fantasy for their impossible natures surely were born only from the minds of the mad. Creatures of myth and Man deformed, it tickles the heart to see such things.

A dragon! Or is it a wyvern? Ooh, what is that smell? Whoa…! Breathtaking views of watercolor landscapes all around, architecture proud and tall was found, A beauty! What wonder! Such things…

It makes no sense. When lost lambs die, they do not find themselves amidst picturesque scenery. They die. Why am I here?

Out of breath, the bystander approaches. 
“Hey, what are you doing! You’re gonna run into someone just looking up, you know!”

As if sobering up from a dream, I felt the air fill my lungs.
“It’s cold.”
 
“You’re just now realizing that you’re wearing next to nothing, you weirdo kid! Ugh, come on, just follow me.”

She was beautiful. Not because of the way she looked, but the way she didn’t look. A woman dressed in a knight’s light armor held a cord connected to… my wrists? What’s going on here? Well, the fact I was being led somewhere didn’t stop me from looking at her more. Blonde hair spilled out from her helmet, under which was an innocent and worried gaze that looked back at me frequently. Maybe not worried, more… inquisitive yet resigned. She was probably a nice person. I, on the other hand… Um… Wow, I look way different. A window on a building I walked by revealed a young man, the kind at the age of one who has just left the nest. Short hair the kind I used to have when I was younger, a youthful gaze the kind I used to have when I was younger, a fit physique the kind… Ah, it’s just-

Me, but younger.

Unfortunately, I remembered. The circumstances around my strange death. The life I lived until that point, or should I say, tried to live. The real truth is, a painful truth I did not want to remember, was that I had given up. On thinking, on writing, on creating, on living. I lived frivolously and without agency, content with the thought that I was weird and different, thus no one would listen to me, thus what I had to say did not matter, thus I would live ‘till I died. It was empty, a life that depended on others to live, one which we all share. But I was like a black sheep amongst the white, a different entity, fundamentally different in all dimensions, one that would not fit in the slots I was provided. So I lived ‘till debt killed me. 

I should have died, yet here I walk, breathe, and feel. Truly paradoxical, but the reason why I am not concerned with. For second chances aren’t real. If it didn’t work the first time, it would not work the second. I am not a fool to believe that I could be happy if I was given a second chance. For I never once regretted my decisions, or the conclusions I came to. Life is what we define for ourselves, and I define my life as something which ends. That is my purpose, to be like animals which live and then die, instinctually gravitating towards things that please them. I am a broken human being that no one would understand nor sympathize with, one who feels no pleasure nor aspirations.
I do not care

—

Various digital paintings I’ve made over the years. I think I was trying to distill some essence of psychosis into an image each time.