Why do I avoid the tasks that need to be accomplished? If becoming can bring accomplishment to the dreams that I once promised. Broken promises have over poured contempt from the hearts of my greatest supporters. Cutting corners has diminished the margin, pushing it passed its border. Do I believe in my future being certain? Or has certainty kept my patience resting behind curtains. Trading future endeavours for temporary forevers. I am a product of procrastination prolonging and hesitation, or is it self preservation? Self realization has lead my destination to the depths of an epiphany, where I fine tune the symphony that I paint for you visually. The bristles of this brush tell a story. But where does the narrative commence? If not with a blank canvas.