Dirt Beneath the Hollywood Sign

Building and breaking lives.

I didn’t know which way to go,
what to desire.
The nothingness was too heavy
to continue to bear,
my mind’s eye too tired
from trying to blink
my lifeless future away.

So I made my decision
and claimed my destiny
as world revolutionary.
Musical commander,
safeguarded by a camaraderie
of angels and demons.

But still just another tragic famous person —
doing ordinary magic,
making art out of liquefied brain matter.
Uncontrollably shaking and aching.
Producing my own tear crystals from scratch.

Teetering off the stage,
the edge of a cliff,
the original resurrected.
Coming from dust to bright lights,
and back to dust.