I know I've got it in me
but I've been running from it
I don't want to be a starving artist
I don't want to be starving
I've just ignored all that's inside me
hoping it would just go away if I didn't write about it
I got so tired of cutting myself open
to bleed out
to read out my heart
these parts of me
I no longer let others see
but it's still there
making me feel so bare
so machine like
just running and running and
gunning for the next big thing
I've made myself a slave for the convenience of
not
having
to feel
but I do feel and it's so real
making me want to keel over
and die in her arms again
I try to deny how I miss her
cliche desire to kiss her one last time
she's not mine and I have to deal with it
trying not to skip meals
starving anyway without the art
so I'm fucked either way only...
this way I create nothing.