chalk stars and charcoal skies. / ambrose + marilyn

Chalk and charcoal stain my fingers. I have spent hours drawing on the bathroom walls, covering up the white wallpaper with a dreamland. It is everything I want, but it has become a nightmare, because my fingers are too feeble to ever grasp it.

I have a theory that there is something beyond the world, a galaxy, a universe that calls my name- Ambrose Ambrose Ambrose- but I cannot answer to it, because I do not have wings to push my feet off of the ground. The window in the attic is the proof of my theory, though others may deny it. But I've seen light pouring into the attic from the Beyond and I cannot help but desire to be drenched in it.

My hands trace down the walls, slightly smearing one of the great trees I drew in charcoal. It is stark against the fair background.

"Isn't it pretty?" I say to myself. "Isn't it grave?"