edgar appeared to me

dark cloaked the color of the fright

of the bird most famous for

rapping at your door in the dead of night

his pallor bored down on me

hooded eyes sinking into pasty crevices

whispering, admonishing

“don’t  do art”

Don’t do art because to art is to

Break your own heart

To art is to pull the deepest

Most repressed junk of memories

To art is to isolate and purposively become

A hermit without

The holy habit

To art is to become a fusion of abhorrence and compassion without any grey barrier

To art is to cut yourself and

Bleed your work

To art is to acquire an artisan


To art is to wallow in blues

Whilst the world whisks away in pinks and purples

To art is to let a typewriter and a fictional

World control your motions

To art is to reject humanity

Simultaneously accepting

And understanding it.

To art is to render yourself

Friendless, shove aside

Coffee house invites hangouts

At malls and shopping areas

Foodcourts swatting flies screening

Calls and searching Wi-Fi

To art is to live in an invisible bubble poppable

By nothing but your own fingernails

To art is pain

To art is to struggle

To art is to be devoured

Alive by fatal chaos

“do not art” he warned

But hard headed, belligerent me

Woke up the following morning

Eager to start creating

Even after the warning



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