I don't wanna write anymore
Don't wanna draw anymore
Don't wanna sing anymore
Don't wanna breathe anymore
When I was little they said I was wonderful at all these things
(Except for one
You can blame my dad who trashed my lungs)
And I
Being the budding flower of future disaster
Shaped myself around these things
I branded myself ART KID
I spent hours drawing the individual scales of fierce crayon dragons
I wanted to write and illustrate my own books
But when you get older you read Fitzgerald
When you get older you visit art museums
I can recognize a Rembrandt painting from across a hall so it's easy enough to recognize trash when I see it
Crumpled paper ***** lay scattered around my bedroom floor, my wastebin is full with wasted dreams and how did they ever let me think I could be worth something?
I guess I had potential
So they weren't really lying
But it hurts
You walk around in massive shoes expecting to grow into them but you just get blisters from the friction
I don't fit into this mold but I built it myself so why not?
It hurts
When you're used to the sun then suddenly night comes and you have to invent the lightbulb
But it was always there before
And now it's just gone
Like moments, like people, like potential
So where do we go from here?

Fear drew me,
devoured me, and
vigorously erased me.
Xe's an *******, but xe's just like me.
I'm xer ****** drawing xe
doesn't want to see.

I'm a pile of rolled up pink rubber bits tainted with grey.
I'm brushed off its desk with a frantically manic flick of the wrist.
I'll get ****** off the ground and thrown away some other day.

and I'll sit in the garbage for a while.
and I'll still be here, but I'll be useless.

Courage sticks xer calloused hands in the grimy wastebin.
Courage picks out all all my bits and pieces.
Courage gives me a squeeze and sticks me back together.
Xe didn't have to do it, but xe's as kind as xe is calloused.

and I'm still a handful of used.
I'm still a pile of pink and grey.
I've just been packed into a ball of passé.
and I smell like **** now that I've been sitting there so long.

Courage SLAPS me in the face.
Thank you, courage.
You're so right.

I will ******* erase you, Fear!
Just like you erased me!
You turned me into humdrum,
so I'll chew you up like bubblegum!
I'll spit you out like poisonous lead
and I'll make you mine instead.
I am not your ****** ******* doodle.
I am a ******* masterpiece, you ******!

Did you ever ask
how long it takes to write
you out of every verse
and all the lines and pages
crumpled in the wastebin
and beads in your hair
and lips drawn like mannequins
and some unsavory sounds
muffled and escaping under the door

Tap tap slap with accent
and headache and eyeroll
while matching shirts stain
in the same exact places
and the low powerhouse hum
hovers somewhere between C and D flat
while beachy melody traipses
over mutual bored expressions

Everything is borrowed, have you ever
built anything with your hands?
Why so soft and exhausted,
you *****? Why don't you stand and fight back?

Unknown monsters disappear
into shadows and thick smoke
leaving a trail of tired descriptors
and false intention

You tried to hide me.
You attempted to dim me.
You even endeavored to vanquish me.
You don't know my origin.
You thought you were god!?
You are nothing more than an empty shell tossed to the wastebin only to hit and miss.
Your life is spent on the ground
Meant to collect dirt, diseases, and infections.
As long as you are apart from light you will bring your own demise.
The desolation you see around you is only a glimpse of the deprivation, decay, and decomposition hungrily growing and drawing towards you.
Held back and restricted by the innocence and purity of a precious child. Through the grace and mercy of a forgiving compassionate heart the wrath and stench of death is subsided and contained.
The time is soon at hand to make a choice.
Whether you'll seek a different way or continue in your blind dismay.

~S.M.S

God is van gogh

Your eyes are his starry night,
Your heart is his yellow house,
Your smile is brighter than the days of arles,
And your love opens at eternity’s gate.

I am a sketch,
Lost in the wastebin-
My heart is its tears,
My page is unfinished,
And my love has been tossed away for better ventures.

Yet I am still art
And I am still beauty-
After all, without me,
Where would be his masterpiece?

He's got
Some things to say
About me

I'm sure
The *** is great
That you'd be fine
Without me

But you brought that art from the other room
And there was a tear
When you set it gently in the wastebin in this one

I saw the shadow man
Sitting across from
The twinkle in your eye

Never apologize to a shadow man,
Don't send your love to the creaking depths of unknown places
Or don't heed my advice
And decide for yourself
Is this bravery, or ignorance

...Or maybe something else?