Swirling within the Whirlpool

Massive wall of impotence and frustration. Hiding in air-conditioned tombs, watching the world through the window of the internet... Eat through the chain, not likely. Creation is the only way out. Defecate my fears and follow a muse through the skylight to the moon. Be the cow that jumps over. Be the man willing to die, to quiet forces founded on self love. Be, before non-being takes precedence. Before this prophecy of death hits the heart. Too late, always too soon, sing the chorus, preserve the tune, loosen the lyrics... let me be again, as before, an artist, free and naive, self-propelled and self-satisfied.