Suffering is an art
Waiting is a sport
Loneliness is a game
How long before the existential demons find my hiding place?
Pessimism is calligraphy
and I’ve been praised for my penmanship
I love the way the pen glides over the papers as I sign my arrest warrants
The eye that is focused on the blemishes in others
will be blinded to the inherent beauty of life
And blinded, you will fumble around under dark skies like a lost wanderer ’til a misstep sends you headfirst into your grave
perhaps I should stop fleeing, and face being executed by my fears
So that I can reincarnate and know what freedom truly feels like.