Artistic Temperament
2.24.8

She says she has an artistic temperament, oh Lord,
I’m laughing I’m laughing I’m sobbing.
She says we have an artistic temperament,
that she won the lottery; that we fit.
Feel what you want, think what you feel, but
these are mine; I can do what I want.
It doesn’t belong, how it doesn’t belong,
how I don’t belong. You
with your lies, as I
tire from running after the ruins of reality.
It doesn’t fit, nothing fits, it’s ugly and I find myself
falling and claustrophobic because it’s all wrong.
There’s not enough “I Love You”s in the world;
not enough sound to bring me back what’s gone, ruined, taken; from
what I know.
Well this is my “artistic temperament” and temperamental I am,
sick and weary and through. So through, yet
the part of me that hates has already began to wilt
and die.
I’m laughing I’m laughing I’m