Day 1722

…Art is no alarm clock

It’s fits and starts

Moans and moments

Failure perpetual

Luck potential

It promises oblivion

And grants nothing but dust

What is legacy but a

Withered flower

The perfume gone to vapour

There is no calendar to creation

No checklist to celebrity

You create out of need

And pray someone interprets properly

Everything else is vanity

And masturbation…

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