I don’t know what I wanna do.
I want to love,
I want to cry,
I want to bleed.
I want to wear silk dresses
And enjoy the luxuries of life.
I want to cut the throats of those who have hurt me,
And watch them as they beg, pled for forgiveness.
I want to cut up fresh fruit and hand feed it to my lover.
I want to write and live in my delusional, sick thoughts.
I don’t want to work,
I don’t want to interact with other people;
I don’t want to cry unless it benefits my works.
I want to live my life as an artist
Without all the unnecessary stress and suffering of living a human life.