ever since schooldays where i did joke sketches of my friends
writing my world and all in it has always been something i did
little did i know that alienation would be the price i'd have to pay
i-- even on this. An explanation...
to creative people. answer me, at what point do real people come first?
and when do your characters become realer than your friends?
maybe this poet is beginning to break down, after three months of flying
i've just crashed back on the same fucking island i flew away from
to the subject at hand.
(please stop making everything rhyme, if you can)
wait- uh- damn.
when can everything stop being material and start being real?
i don't ask for much, i just want to stop thinking and start to FEEL.
put that in caps. for effect.
heh
damn i need a drink. STIFF drink!
