I am an artist. At least that’s how I work.
A piece of this, a chunk of that, put it all in a pile and pretend it looks like something innovative.
Puked out creativity. And everyone is cheering. And everyone is mesmerized. And nobody knows who you actually are. Once you’re gone, they will remember.
“Yeah, that was him, and he did something. Appreciated.”

Something like that. A lot of emotions and a thread of character.
Deadly. People look at me and learn to smile. I give them hope in such an absurd way. They take what I give, agreeing and celebrating.
And then they answer.
“Yeah, you’ve got it. But not that way. It’s true, but not that way.You’re right, but that’s not how I want it to end”.

I haven’t slept in days.
When this first started, I ended up so exhausted that I would imply collapse and sleep. But tonight, I’m electrified. When I close my eyes, I see things. I imagine memories, I never actually had. I’m living through moments, that I’d love to have lived. That I wanted to feel.
I draw pictures, and none of them are mine. They’re stolen, used and abused by others. Changed, adopted, improved and summoned. Without me, the faces around me wouldn’t even know how good life was before we met.
I can’t let that happen.
Hate. Rising, pushing, plugging.
Truth. Fiction.
I see potential. Limitless energy. Stars in their eyes and an eternity in but a kiss. I see myself. The thought to set free this potential. To live it, to say it out loud. Without my pictures, I’m emotional cold. Calm. Nothing.
But I need the force. I need the despair of loved ones, when they suffer in the reality of my art. Then I push even more sparks of hope. And another one. No mercy. The enemy still breathes.
Reality. Lie.

I don’t get it. They’ll come to me. They want more. They’re seeking the suffocating warmth of my worn out ideas and imagination. But then it’s me, who goes too far. That gives too much. That fights.
No difference. No bitch’s still beating with my heart.

After they trust me, there’s no way back. With me, it could be so much better. Because I give. Because I see. Because I understand. Because I am. But no. Before, it all was better.
Mass-consciousness of a bubbling modern world. Like a rash, A scratch until it bleeds.
That’s why I can’t let it happen. Man, fuck your life one last time and leave the whore behind, drugged up and worthless. Just-let-go. You’ve got the tools. Bend over and let it happen.
Plug, force, pressure. Until I will simply go.
Good bye. Nice meeting you. You’ve got a great personality, but your soul smells like stale stupidity. Ignorance.
I don’t hate anymore. I just don’t care. I turn around, swallow and forget.
Sometimes they beg for more. They argue with hallow voices. No relation to reality. Waste of time.

What do you want? And why are you complaining to me that everything is even worse with me, and without me,  it wouldn’t be as bad, and that’s just bad, period, thanks, period?
Think. Push. Speak.

Six in the morning. Reasons wants to sleep.
My newest creation is a true piece of shit. Pure around me. Pure despair without me. No idea how got to that idea. I just felt like it. I painted love and romance. It’s like she never something like it, the way she begged for more.
Truly pathetic. I gave all strength left in me. And that’s been a lot. But it was for naught. To ignorant to bend over. Wants to be fucked, but doesn’t want to doit herself.
Turn around. Forget. Time destroys. Everything.
Again, lost Again, her.

Again, another one.
I love.
She agrees, and says, “Amen.”

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