not recent

[w4ke_up]

sometimes
its early in the morning and
i'm still awake,
cause im trying
to figure out a way
to fucking express.
and my eyelids hang low, i'm
surrounded by people who know
how to talk, yet
I can just break off
sentences and play
the part but metaphors
are too cheesy and
honestys too blunt, maybe
next time i'll try
being vague or try
being deep, but really,
prose is a gift, and
i used to be creative,
so now, what is this?
I cant think and my
mind's hit a truck,
not the other way around.
I dont need encouragement,
its not to feel good,
its to say the things
I cant anymore, and
its a message that gets
lost in translation,
much like all the subtle
things in that movie
that no one got, they
say you don't choose art but
art chooses you, it's
not fun so dont envy it,
this feeling of trapped
expression, if art chooses
you, it explains why I
dont stop painting or dont
stop trying when I know I'm
so FUCKING lame, why I
paint and I write but
I'm the only soul to
ever see it, it defeats
the purpose of being
heard but whats
the point of being
heard when ITS
NOT WHAT I MEAN.
THATS NOT WHAT I MEAN.