Click the a for audio (voice reveal I guess) I finally posted some poetry! Was this stupid of me? Very. Oh well. ~This was written the twenty-third of march, 2023~ Also, a little Easter egg; one of the photos in the background collage was a photo I took when I snuck into the actual “library” part of the New York Public Library (the ceilings are GORGEOUS)
I befriend the crowd saying "WHO TF IS GOD" But I will never join the ones screaming "GOD IS NOT REAL" because there is a god The god of art. He is passionate He is more honest than anything else He is every race and no race at all The only wars around him are the ones he has with himself Which are strong, but there are never any casualties except himself. He isn’t the most stable person out there He has every personality disorder known to man (save maybe narcissism) He is very sad when at rest, He is mad as a hatter, But really, did you expect him to be sane? He is not insane enough to stay sane His body covered in tattoos That are writing His writing His husband Logic is dead - his husband Logic was murdered by the masses. Sometimes he’s drunk, Sometimes he’s high He often thinks of drowning himself in his own tears As the years go by he writes he acts, he sings, he laughs the high-pitched laugh of paranoia He runs naked through the streets Screaming “LOOK AT ME! PLEASE, JUST SEE ME I have written, and screamed, and painted, and starved myself, and I’ve danced, and I’ve writhed in the dirt And there is nothing else I can do, Please kill me.” We bow at the shrine of his pain and his truth and the hate he’s endured So we write, and we scream, and we paint, and we starve ourselves, and we dance and we writhe in the dirt But- He he has no one to pray to, for he is god And his husband, Logic, is dead.
