art inspires art; like fire makes fire
and sex makes humans making love
making sex, dipping their hands
in red and painting
I met you when I was a conquerer,
I met you and
you tore me apart.
I was making grand endless forests
and populating them with leopards
and crying when I was lied to
and crying when I lied; the world
was completely mine.
you told me: the reflection in the window is not
schizophrenia or anxiety or tumblr.
you told me:
that i am not special. that i have no truth. that maybe
I could make art,
but I lost transcendence, I gave up Beauty
for the small pleasure of being right online.