I saw a planet hanging in darkness, glowing with impossible blues and electric greens.

Not a peaceful planet. A wounded one.

Three black claw marks tore across its surface like a giant hand had reached through space and dragged its fingers across the stars. Thick paint. Heavy texture. Raw impact.

From those scars, color began to bleed. Neon blue. Acid green. Liquid light.

The drips stretched downward through the blackness like gravity was pulling energy out of another dimension. Not destruction—transformation.

Part street art. Part cosmic accident. Part dream remembered seconds before waking.

A spray-painted universe caught between creation and collapse.

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