Life imitates art, as such everything we do is a performance: from gymnastics to photography, it is mystic that some of us allow this creativity to live through us like filmography.
It becomes our everything to become something and soon we become the inferno that amuses lava and burns out to become nothing.
Some catch wind of us whilst we are burning and some fan our flames but we have no-one to blame ourselves as to whether we let the fire stay alive and drive us.
People have shamed us for shamelessly using real life people as our muses: since some ruse and abuse it is understandable why you wouldn’t want to choose one of us. We are selfish and foolish and want nothing more to enlighten whilst we fornicate with the throws of darkness within our own selves for the sake of our art. Whilst you try and save us we will tear you apart, limb from limb, hymn from hymn like you are a sermon, and not human… like a serpent.
We’re useless in the long run – like a burnt out cigarette which never quite reaches that same nicotine hit as it first did, scoring the back of your neck like when balls hit the back of the neck, I mean net and men cheer and jeer.
You see we’re useless here.
On Earth, we are of short-lived intensity, not meant for eternity.
And so we disappear.