Artists and narcissists.
Artists that cure the narcissist’s lure.
Artists, not narcissists are needed for sure.
Conspiracists running away from the feeling
That everyone out there has clean, cut, pure dealings.
Desire to live, in a world so predicted
And safe, and harmonious, almost divine
But almost is that which makes you addicted
To seeing illusions, and holding on to them.
While letting go makes you
Insane.
They shout against injustice.
They shout against oppression,
Yet nothing about this has been any fair.
No talks, no discussion,
You wake up one day, your mom packed your clothes,
And sent you away.
But the vibrations haven’t fallen apart
Through time and through space.
Despite the interruption, they still do connect,
They crystalize gently
Through the one thing that’s missing,
When anger prevails—self-respect.
donika emille 