

BullshitMy scrawl taunts my paper, Like impulses for the brain-dead, It's going no where fast, but neither am I. I'm so very lost. Stranded till lightning strikes me dead I'm so sick of starving, I'm so sick of myself, Disaster, disaster-come quick! I'm so sick of how obsessive these thoughts have become. There's a fine line between fantasy and love, and love and lust. Crossing boundaries and skipping first steps. And I'm so lost. Idealist, dreamer, a fool at best, still sick, still sick. Fathering these fucking fantasies of a world that doesn't exist, Disaster disaster-comBullshit
--
A bone heals
A bruise fades
But art is forever
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