poetic trap
What many people consider art, I want to rip apart and burn, simply because it has no pleasing value. But to them, it may be pure joy. So destruction seems a bit overkill. Instead I ignore it, choose what I WANT to look at, or hear, or touch. Beauty can be found in pain, happiness, anger, sadness…but just because someone creates it, doesn’t mean it’s art.
Pulled
used interface
grasping hold onto colorful beams
rusted through in a million places
and falling into a cracked dream
tight slow theory processed around
the sticky web of my stable ground
click point explode
trapped in a non-existent place
addicted to the meaningless
dots on a screen
I’d leave this place
snap my fingers
but trapped
I’ll stay until I fade
find me someday
a digital saddened face
shaken stirred out of place
twisted fused torn and used
made of hidden obstacles
and somehow prepared brand new