art is a cultivation of music and words
constructed as a form of escape.
no artist has sat down with the intention to expel happiness
but to cut their skin and let blood pour from their wounds.
without the raw feeling of mundane pain
books and music and paint would not exist.
for there is no world where art and happiness and joy
can ever possibly coexist.
art is the darkest part of your soul that broods and cries
in the hollowness of your life.
art is all the unspoken words and tell tale love stories
that could be
but never were.
art is every
little
cut
that girl tore
the day
before
she died.
pain is not a romanticisation
it is impossible to glorify
art is just a coping mechanism to make everything feel a little bit better.
YOU ARE READING
plastic flowers
PoetryNOTE: you can now buy this on amazon for $0.99! this will just be snippets :) late nights to early mornings, sane mind to stress. a compilation. {favourites} poetry / snippets
