This that I do

What kind of writer am I?

It’s complicated

Undescribable

Very seldom will you find it

Therefore unrivalable

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…

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

Yeah

That...little...thing there.

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