Sometimes, I feel ancient
Worn out, as if I have seen
The decease of beauty
Ragged, as if I am
The rotting bones
Of some prehistoric dinosaur

Sometimes, I feel full
With passion and despair
Prepared to let my insides burst
Allowing my demise
To be the most spectacular
And sordid scene of all

Mostly, I feel wasted
Patiently awaiting
The day I begin living
With the intent of
Making amends with
My primeval soul and juvenile remains

Perhaps it’s a shame
To not embrace ones gifts
Although it’s difficult to comprehend
How incredibly frustrating
It is to be limited by the amount of
Time your body has been absent from the womb

I am a typical 19th century romantic artist
Displaced in the 21st century
Submerging into fading pictures
Caught between fables and fairytales
With repression finally off my shoulders
And I truly begin to feel