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• Artiste: My Fictions
• Titre: Torch
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Starving artist, I know you never ate much but is it worse than living in a cultureless culture that doesn't care for what you bleed over? Yeah, I know the shame, having to hide the name of your calling like an exiled love just to stay above the guilt of loving something you can't explain in financial form. You're starving your soul if you fucking have one. This depleted life it makes me wonder why people carry torches, I'd burn myself alive because what we value, people just don't care, they say we're misled say we're unaware but when you constantly embrace the fact that you haven't got your life on track nothing really means much. Nothing matters but what you love but I don't know if I can take another half century of wallowing in this shit. I don't think I ever claimed to know anything about how to live, I can only measure my pain. And I've felt true anguish but I hate this more and I think I want to give in if this is all that's in store. But maybe I can change and learn how to cope with the fact that I'll never have understood goals. I'll take the time to create my own version of god, find love, lose profit and then die like a dog.