My name is Harrison and I have a talent of no comparison. I'm an artist, I paint for a living, I've even sold a couple paintings to a couple presidents, no embellishment. When I was three I started drawing but I didn't realize my talent until I was incarcerated. I guess for this to make sense I should tell you I'm a tad bit schizophrenic and I killed the mother of my children. In my head Some of the voices tell me it was an accident but I can't forget the high I felt as i watched her struggle for a last breath. None the less, I got caught, and gladly did my time and with so much time on my hands I put my hands to the pad and when I wasn't locked in a room made of white pads I let the paint explain why I was sad. A while ago I lost the ability to cry but when the paint on the canvas dries I imagine my tears inscribed in the gray skies, and crashing waves, and deep red eyes of the monsters created by my mind. But see, the monsters created by those white lines, I can't paint those because they become me when I put my nose to the table and the visions of my mind become my life and I feel like I can fly when I'm up that high. But can anyone tell me how long I have to hide from my demons cause I'm tired of running and tired of breathing, and tired of facing the nights without sleeping. I really just want someone to believe me. Yes I am crazy and my sanity is a little hazy but the world needs to stop pretending like God didn't make me, just like he made you. Shaped in sin. My name is Harrison and I don't know how my story ends.