Sometimes being who you are
Doesn’t matter to anyone but you
So get your tools down off the shelf
Make a statement about yourself
If you use body fluids then they’ll have to
Notice you

I spend each day writing names
of ex-lovers in spit on index cards
Wrapping them in barbed wire
Then setting them all on fire
It’s not incomprehensible, it’s
Avant-garde

I make art
Because I’ve got a lot of pain
Inside I’m made of anguish
Ennui and despair

I make art
To quiet down my brain
Throw a bone to all my demons
By making puppets out of hair

Sometimes the only way to pierce
The world’s thick veil of sadness
Is draw a picture of a dog
Call it “The Futility of God”
Your work is more significant if you irritate
The Catholics

Nobody understands the need
I’ve got inside of me to bleed
Onto a canvas, into a wine glass
It’s so potent and so serious
Ritual cigarette burns,
It’s a statement on commercialism
Don’t you get it
Just forget it
It’s obviously not your thing

I make art
Because I’ve got a lot to say
That’s why I need these rotten limes
And six pints of turpentine
I make art
Because I don’t know a better way
To sleep until it’s dark outside
And not show up to work on time

Everything’s so overwhelming
Just being alive is such a stressor
A tube of titanium white
Will make everything all right
As long as you remember that beauty is a tool of the
oppressor

Nobody understands the need
I’ve got inside of me to bleed
Onto a canvas, into a wine glass
It’s so potent and so serious
Ritual cigarette burns,
It’s a statement on commercialism
Don’t you get it
Just forget it
It’s obviously not your thing

I make art
Because it’s easier this way
Expressing my emotions
Through collages of my dad
I make art
Because everything will be okay
As long as the gelatin sets
Before the cow’s eyeball goes bad

My muse is a vespertine
I’m not sure why you question me
I’m an artist
I make art