A painting robbed of its innocence to be given motivation and reason. Raped of the singular joy it had, to be hung on a white wall. As a slow chorus sweeps by to find praise for nothing. Whispers of doubt are blocked by a laser fence. It is a rebellion against itself, and as one man once said, a house divided cannot stand. This art has been propped up on the lies of a hope. A hope that was created when beauty and truth was doubted. In the end of a world scenario none of this matters. In an end of the world scenario everything is fear. In the end of the world scenario art will be the only comfort and in the end I don't want a urinal.
Shart?--
Art is nothing.
It adds nothing.
It gives nothing.
It takes everything.
Artists are frauds.
They tell lies
to convince beauties
that the world is a lie.
Iced Tea--
This ship has hit an iceberg.
Sirens have sung to break a sharp silence.
Ships have been dropped,
to see people jump after.
The captain has a revolver
With only 5 bullets left
This ship has hit an iceberg,
not big enough to cool my drink.
--
I am a lie.
I am hope erupted
Spilled across a canvas
To dry to an eggshell white.
Is it far enough?--
You are love.
You are hope.
You are a gift.
But I am lost.
You are no search light in a storm.
I am a sea with no ships.
You are wish.
Left in a Dream.
That began in a Coma.
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