Yes
The sun can not shine
All the time
And at the moment it's raining
Through the roof
The feint drip drop
It stands out, loud against the silence
The comfort of wet hay
Is a taught pleasure
Having a cover against the wind
What a privilege
No fight is left in me
Nothing to fight for
And yet
I still get up and walk the walk
That is expected
The grip of routine sits tight
Like the mothers teeth in the neck of a kitten
All for a thin coat with holes and a meal
That doesn't sit right
With me
Vincent, Vincent
You were right
Great art comes from a place of pain
That sat, settled and fermented
For quite a bit
Our time on earth is rented
And if you were to take me up on it now
On my knees before you
My profile held high, shone in half light
Faced with the cold cruelty of metal
And gunpowders warmth spark
Formed and perfected over centuries
If I had to choose then, if you made me
I would pull the cord
I would tie my teeth to the door handle and push
Cut the strings on my back and collapase
To the ground
Embrace the fog at the end of day
Savour the dawn
Light up all that you have build
To keep you warm
A mediocre artist amongst many
I shall be
But at least with a leftover shot at happiness
One bullet left in the chamber
Goes round and rund
click
And the world finally
Goes quieter
End of scene
No need to drop the curtain
Or get up for me