But we are different

“Sometimes there are long raucous seconds

between my sentences,

sometimes there are many quiet and hollow days

between my words,

Was I alive in those betweens, Was I too aloof,

a plastic organism

Would you have liked me then,

would you have killed for me then?”

Do you allow yourself the freedom to think and not stop? If you find your insides infected with art, embrace it, create with it. There is no better gift to cope with existence than creating away and don’t forget how even destruction is such pretty art. Look at ourselves. It’s so beautiful watching us so dramatically move towards our destruction, leaving our life as death notes and art as the best things we did when we were alive.