how will i prove
the love that
still pines
for you?

a mixtape
filled with
all the songs
we know
by heart
and sing
at the top
of our lungs

photographs
you took of me
smiling shyly
at the
lens

flowers
that we planted
together
that grew
in every corner
of my garden

ticket stubs
from when i
remember you
were so scared
of heights so
i never let go
of your hand
in mine

an exhibit
of the things
i collected
from all the
places
we have gone
to

unsent letters
that kept
my spilled words
about every
thing
that I
felt about you

myself
with this thing
inside me
too tired and beaten up
to beat
perpetually
but never
failed
to work
helplessly

i tore
my heart
open
for you
to
come in

but you
ruptured
it more,
left,
and never
came back

i broke
myself
trying

to
fix you

Art is the structure of currency,
Money holds a value even though it itsn't worth the paper its printed on.

What created its existence was a question.
What is the value of anything?

Art became the price of life , enslaved by its creators, Art was now controlled by the very thing we were creating, Money

Slave unto itself , by the media they made , controlled by the makers of our own creation we were fed.

What was fed became federal,
reserved for times value for the measure of work it takes to keep life sustained.

Life cannot be without money, just as money can not be without art or there is no Trade.