I was so ready to stop being so god damn innocent.
I like when you’re pretty;
when your shirt dips a little lower than it should.
I like when you move, and your whole body goes with you.
I layer, and my mind goes with me:
lips, skin, arm, head;
look at you. You’re a
painting, picture, perfect.
My porcelain doll
(don’t look- she might break).
I’ll look all the more:
break for me baby,
break for me,
Everything seems a bit said before,
a little over rehearsed.
The lines have nothing new to me,
just recapitulation of a dead horse.
Why even try anymore?
There’s nothing new under the sun.
Everything’s been done before,
my art is getting numb.
No motivation to drop a line
unless its something new.
I just need someone’s fresh caprice
to give me something to do.
So boo, boo, boo,
I hate you all!
You leave me sad and over thought.
I’m a hungry inspiration-less hacked up ball;
just give me something new.