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Art Is Death
A nine - to - five
bartending job -
the life, death,
and fate of an
artist.
Forced
to sweep
cracked tile,
and vacuum
puke stained
floors -
until enough
people notice
him.
False faith,
or shall I say
hope, keeps
him writing,
painting, singing,
drawing -
drinking and sinking
in his own misery,
dragged down to
the bottom
of his own
internal ocean
by an anchor called
creativity.
He cannot
stand fantastical,
make-believe things,
and good god, he can’t
stand the smell
of cheap women and
cigarette smoke.
It assaults his
sinuses in the same way
the men they are drinking
to forget about did to
them.
And
then he wonders
what is going to
kill him first -
the depression or
the cancer from all
the secondhand smoke
he has been breathing
in.
3 months later:
He quits his job,
writes himself into
a story, takes 12
tabs of acid, and
plays pretend for
the very last
time.
Because
that is the
only thing he
has ever been
any good at
doing.
Well that,
and pathological
lying.
That’s all art
really is, isn’t it?
And that’s all
there will ever
be to say about
that.
Copyright ©
Alijah Rivers
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