is it even possible to be original anymore?
hasn’t everything already been said?
isn’t everything that I write
just a reflection of what I’ve read?
it seems so unlikely that in a world so old,
I can tell you a story that’s never been told
what happens then, to artists like us?
no wonder we aim to be misunderstood
we ache so badly to be unique
but there’s no way we ever could
and so we wallow instead in our wilful misery
attempting to a achieve a fate that can never be
if god forbid, someone tried to decode us
all they would find is insecurity