deepundergroundpoetry.com

artistic fatalism

It is not the loss of creation
that is death to an artist
it is the loss of passion

I have lost my passion
though not the will to create
works that leave me lukewarm

I am bored and disillusioned
and I have committed
the most heinous crime
of allowing myself to be tamed

Where are the raw, rich
and gritty words of my past?
Where is the sex and violence
and my romantification
of the nihilistic spirit?

There is no adrenaline here
just nerves fading to apathy

Here marks the slow death
of my art

© Indie Adams 2014
Indie
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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