Still Life, with Tulips and Fruit Bowl - Suzanne Valadon

what I stem from in view the too small pot with too little soil yet, I appear whole, to have grown placed between things to balance my God, it works to provide support the moments of perfection, so brief! I must hold my breath, linger ~ the fear and knowledge of self overwhelms, terrifies, confuses... I know, you know, that I'll stop looking pretty everything about me will fall to the floor I'll shrink back until I bloom again I can't change a damned thing! cycles of adoration out-of-sight contempt seemingly fully owned, accepted by me I feel for those that share my space incidentally by my side I should not sob out this earth's despair we could all ensemble so nicely if I'm just quiet accept what survives alone is a start and end date fixed to a spot tethered to knowing all of before, during and after until hidden again beneath the ground perhaps to rot, perhaps to strive again within the same 'just enough' confines satisfied somehow to look pretty for a moment that I grew, no matter, that I managed it for stark awareness to shake my lack of foundation as the darkened room envelopes me futility: the reality of our composition I'm already forgetting with nothing to grasp, to hold onto fleeting revelation déjà vu and nyctinasty sleep and waking realisation and amnesia death and life and waiting always quietly waiting for it to make sense