Aug 2020
what is there for me to do but create
what do I have but the words in my mind and the color in my limbs
a pressure builds behind my eyes and down my throat
screams and cries of lyrics and rhythm pollute the air
pastels and stomach acid splatter onto a canvas
I cry and cry because what is there for me to do but create
what do I have but the words in my mind and the color in my limbs
a pressure builds behind my eyes and down my throat
screams and cries of lyrics and rhythm pollute the air
pastels and stomach acid splatter onto a canvas
I cry and cry because what is there for me to do but create
I wrote this awhile ago when all I would do was write and draw and sing and create, but these days I find myself empty. If all I used to do was create, then now I have nothing to do. I am nothing
