What kind of writer am I?
Very seldom will you find it
I don’t boast luxuries I don’t have
I don’t write about romance
So what is there to write about?
I don’t cry about the cruel injustice in the world
Or sit around feeling sorry for myself
So what else would i write about?
Why should I write about an economy or a species
That the very fact that i am apart of it brings me shame
I don’t have or care about feeling
So i can’t write about that
I mean I could but why would i want to?
Fiction is too truthful
Like any other human i can’t bare it!
Non-fiction is a lie.
But this that I do:
Is the fine line’
The fine print Which between underlies.
But i refuse to write about that.
This that I do:
It’s the uncensored story of a world
A world everyone chose to live in ignorance of;
Simply because it’s easier to accept than the candid answer.
And why listen to me spin a whimsical tale
of an old, rusty, dusty, abused, rickety
Abandoned factory of a land!
That only i can see?!
You could be chasing whimsical, grotesque, mythical creatures
That Only you can see.
I don’t waste time trying to inspire a world i don’t care about.
You don’t care enough to waste time to look right there
Oh yeah, you can’t see it.
Because until this day, you didn’t care enough to realise it’s existence...
Or maybe you didn’t want to.
So again, why should you believe me?
I could be telling the truth…
But i don’t waste my time on that.
I could be telling you... fiction…
I’ve been there
I live there.
By: Style Luxe