Can I just cry myself to death?
Tracey Emin - My Bed (1998)
The artist’s bed, presented in the state she claimed it had been while in the midst of a suicidial depression brought on by relationship difficulties. Empty booze bottles, cigarette butts, stained sheets, worn panties, “the bloody aftermath of a nervous breakdown”, My Bed was a scandalous installation in its day and though it wasn’t the winner of the Turner Prize, its notoriety has persisted.
nothing. nothing compares to the truth behind these images.
It has been 3 years and 4 months since I have felt like this.
Today I hate time because time is what tells us we need to leave when all we want to do is lay here forever.
I am observant but not talented in the field of expression which leaves my thoughts to outweigh my words. I find comfort in writing because ideas become clear when given a chance to form.