Shimmer and shine, glittery wine flows in glows— the cup bearing it overflows and spills, painting the canvas red, breathing a soul into the silhouette. ​A spear pierces through a heart—a paused pulse. The beat that once resounded as a talking drum fades. The inner kingdom falls as wine flows into every sketch. The steps of the bata dancers that synced in melody, all disrupted at the sound of the war drum's cry. "Iku oro oo," the spirits of the dead wail. ​The heads pour forth crimson streams: the civil war of a breaking mind, the moon bleeding its lights out. The paint possesses a spark of life— a work of art.