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Art feeds on our oxygen
and breathes heavily on our necks…
Art snores and won’t let us sleep.

Art can give me three more verses.

…Art infiltrates the cracks in our skin
and whispers secrets we don’t want to hear.
Art disfigures time,
drags memories like chains on a glass floor.
Art demands sacrifice
and we offer silence as an altar.

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    12 COMMENTS

    1. If Art was a dude, we’d be kicking his ass for taking up so much of our time!
      yet, it’s a drug, and we are addicted.
      You summed it up brilliantly. Well writ.

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