Sometimes it's best to just dash forward and smash the bottle against the wall. Sick of slow release. Sick of leaving wonders.

A huge, gleaming fireball, hurtling towards absolute nothing.

That tingling feeling that comes with the burst of idea, but departs only when the page is turned, and the cannon fires once again, sending the scribbler into rage. Full of longing, but with the slightest sense of satisfaction.

The ambience of the darkest music flows throughout, as lips and hands sing agressively along. Fingers curling along with faces to form an menacing grimace.

For this.

This is true expression.

Even if no one else is to see it, the words have been scrawled down and the brain can relax momentarily. Into the calm of the storm. Until the mind stirs once more. Perhaps it takes weeks, or mere seconds. Perhaps a gust of wind, or the somber wisps of tragedy. Perhaps all it takes is existance, to spark an ember of expression in us all.

But that grimace can turn to the deepest of sobs. Because expression is both a giver of life, and a taker of the same beautiful thing we take for granted day by day. Expression can save a life, and at the same time the process can drive those same souls further off the edge.

But no matter how somber the muse, there's always a rope.

A lantern of sorts, even if not yet identified, to lead the pen on down to form the saviors and the ruthless beasts. 

His Story. Her Story.

Love letters. Suicide Notes. Out of Order signs.

Written in dark, Written in light. Outlining blame, or serenading with the deepest intent. Sometimes direct, other times more cryptic than the uncrackable codes that we chip at still today, hunting for that Lantern meaning. The meaning can reach out and slap you across the face, or it could be tightly stitched in, like a warm blanket hiding a shy and tender face. It can be painted across the sky on the widest of canvas, or left to dictate the emotions of one, scratched into the walls of a lonely cell. But with the power to change. 

Expression is all around us. Within your mind, within this piece. You cannot escape the flame of expression, shining orange brilliance onto those who live, to those who die.

To those who cry, and those who laugh.

The flame engulfs all, to create a sense of charred black crumbling emotion.

The small glinting bottle can be poured out softly and slowly, bringing on the slightest taste. It can be hurled with unfathomable might to the hands of the needing. They might catch it with open palms, or it may shatter before their eyes, leaving them grasping with the last hopes.

For the taste that cools and burns the throat. 

That pains and soothes the deepest of wounds. And all the while, the true intent known only to the one who threw. And the flicker of the Lantern that lit the way to a larger flame.

The flame of true, unrestricted, unguarded

Loving, Hating, 

Passionate.

Expression