In the basement with one light, I present archived thoughts marked for deletion,
These won’t see the day’s light, these won’t leave my dungeon, tortured with vulnerability fears.
Choice shots of mine you won’t care for
Layouts without obvious meanings don’t fit
Colors off, too painful to pitch
I don’t think I can get my point across the rift.
//
What does it mean? Buried junk I once thought of as treasure,
It’s embarrassing, undeveloped scraps in the making of art, grotesque expressions,
Exposing the gallery of hopes and fears, well my well is near without a thirsty taker.
They want bottled water processed and synthesized
Purity too rich, flavor it with misleading blinking eyes
I was told to keep it real now they want me to apologize
Be yourself but let’s edit, whittle down the run time
Cut, cut.
Emotion Dough 