The Precipice

The Precipice

You feel it. Low and deep. A thrum behind the ribs, like something ancient stirring beneath the floorboards. You’re standing at the edge of the work—half-born, half-mad—with that flicker in the dark ahead. A pulse. A glow.

You tell yourself it’s light. You want to believe it is. But is it? Or just another mirage, dancing on the bones of every false start?

The Lure of the Flicker

It happens just before something breaks open. Your vision sharpens. You taste iron in the air. You think this is it. The moment the lines will hold. The color will speak. The work will finally match the fire behind your eyes.

And then—slip. Fade.

You’re left holding the husk of it, heart racing, brush trembling.

But here’s the thing. That flicker? Even if it vanishes—it was real. A heartbeat. Maybe not the end. But a sign. A warning. A promise.

The Fall

This place—this edge—is where most people turn back. They crawl away from the void, call it failure, call it burnout. But the void isn’t the enemy. The void is the door.

You don’t paint your way around it. You paint your way through. One stroke at a time, even when your hand shakes. Especially when it shakes.

Let It Burn

The tunnel isn’t lit for you. It doesn’t owe you clarity. But if you keep going—if you listen close—you’ll find your rhythm in the dark. The pulse you thought was ahead of you?

It was coming from your own chest the whole time.

Final Whisper

You’re not lost.

You’re not broken.

You’re on the verge.

And that trembling light ahead? Whether it’s salvation or smoke—chase it. Let it consume you. Let it make you.