(no subject)
everything is about color
these days
and even with the lack of,
it can still remain
transcendental in the minds of those
who witness its absence.
the affected are a people
of small voices and
wrong decisions,
but we all pretend to scream and
be satisfied with what remains.
i'm affected and decaying within
a shell of values, because
art and soul are made
to sell.
and i'd sell myself to you.
i sell myself to you
everyday.
(i've been writing a lot of poetry in my head lately, and i finally decided to write some of it down. this feels good.)