Chapter 1
Because my art is not so much art to you,
and my love you look at with indifference.
While you crave to see a shining river,
I bleed out.
Because I believe, like a fool,
that my blood will be bright enough,
so I open my veins
hoping you’ll mistake them for rivers.
But not even then do you notice.
And I drown,
I lose strength,
and I’m left anemic.
Yet my suffering
doesn’t hurt enough for you.
And my agony isn’t poetry in your blindness.
Because in the movies it’s ok
but when I am able to give you down to my bones,
you get scared.
And you leave me,
with this bitter indifference,
that corrodes me,
that destroys who I am.
And leaves me asking
who I want to be,
when I only wanted to be
what you wanted.
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