I found a new muse and she has my left eyeball in her purse

I went into my regular routine

I make a lot of art


then flip out saying I can't make anything good

and that its hopeless to go on
then I make shit loads more

art



then
sleep with a couple ladies

then retreat
to my lonesome

state

and


think about all the longings
of man


and ask myself repeatedly is it worth it


to starve on the streets to be immortalized in poem?