Seeking Faustus

I’ll sell it to you if I become famous, if I can sit idly about while masterpieces pass from head to page in effortless debauchery. You have the connections now, bored and burning in some distant consequence, wishing you had more time, wondering at your own folly. I hunger for immediate gratification but fear not the chime of midnight, meandering as I am through words and passions, eager to find the formula you must have missed, when thoughts parade themselves but refuse completion. So, surely, I can forfeit myself for an eternity if I make it big, and my parable continues beyond this brain demanding worthiness, if I know what lies beneath, what lies I hold at my fingertips when I want it now, when my eagerness surpasses sublime creativity and all I can think of is myself. I will wait for you here.