Love lightly, live lightly - life is heavy enough
Laura, are you still living there
On your estate of sorrows?
You used to leave it occasionally
But now you don’t even bother
All your lives one track, can’t you see it’s pointless?
But then, my knees give under me. My head feels weak and
suddenly it is clear to see that it is not them but me, who has lost my self-identity.
As I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry,
like art could save a wretch like me, with some ideal ideology that no one can hope to achieve.
And I am never real; it is just a sketch of me.
And everything I made is trite and cheap and a waste of paint, of tape, of time.