My life is on paper, but I am not an open book. I am a Rorschach test of blood stains and paint brush strokes. I demand all respect, but I won't give it up easy. My respect is earned, not given. Wage your own wars, cage your own rage, make your best thoughts jump off the blank page. Tell me what you have to offer, show me what you can do. What makes you talented, show me what you got in your past lives. Let me see what you have contracted inside.|
You can't tell your stories when your 6 ft under, you can't tell people what you've done through the dirt, you can't write your stories down after the coffin lid closes. You are a piece of artwork walking on two legs, now paint a new picture on the canvas, before your mind becomes the only thing holding your pictures together. Write it, paint it, what are you leaving here when you leave, tell me that.
Show me what you have inside.
My coffins lid is closing fast.
Tell me, before we're all dead.