Artists like us
Have a rare form of narcissism
In which
We think we are ****
But we want others to see our ****
And enjoy it
And when they do.
It's intoxication
To much wine
On an empty stomach
Fade to black

Growing up
My uncle had this *******
Junkyard dog
And the dog had a bear
And i was 5
And i didnt really want the bear
But next thing i knew
It was craddled to my chest
And the dog stratched
to get it back
It left a deep red reminder on my arm
And i hid it from my mom
So she wouldent know i took the dog's bear
I still have a scar there.

But look
what im saying is,
Though this is into the void
And you will never hear it,
I'm sorry.