we are all poets,

painters and writers,

we are all brilliant

misunderstood artists,

the manic depressive,

the self-deluded,

cranking out

work after work

in the misplaced hope

of other people somehow

getting it, this thing

that we’re going through,

this up and down

crazy life we live,

this running with the bulls

and getting trampled

helplessly underfoot

as we’re swept along

by the sick momentum

of a wildstyle existence

in a wide-eyed world

that can do nothing

but stand and gape at us

as we slowly unravel

so artistically

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