Self

In dry brush and pale cobalt I sketched two heads in upper and lower parts of Mylar sheet mirroring each other and, suffocated, couldn't continue. I sat in front of it for an hour, and left. 

A day later the migraine broke in. Numbed with 800 Advil, unable to tie two strings of thought together I descended into the Cave.

"A thought is a rope," I thought, "a rope is a line, and I am incapable of thinking."

 Ignore the ropes of drawing and delve into the color, lets the air in and breath!