The artist

Who are you?
A minstrel.
I put my fingers inside your throat, yank out your music.

Who are you?
I have a story.
I steal your past, I can read it all, including the horrors. I press delete

Who are you?
I thought we could play.
You’ve come into the wrong neighborhood, I disappear.

Who are you?
You are hurting me, are you crazy?
I leave you puzzled, wandering about naked, when you get home,
three morphine drips later
you survive

I toss your soul about in a dustbin. I shake your teeth in a jar. Somewhere in the dead of the night you hear lunatic screams from a forbidden part of the town.

I rock back and forth back and forth
There is nothing wrong with me

I look in the mirror. I see you. 

I find you repulsive, why?
The thought of you is stifling

Back and forth back and forth
I am disappearing into myself

Back and forth, I am made up of shadows
There is nothing wrong with me.

I am an escape artist,
Back and forth, back and forth,

I am learning how to eat fire,
watch me chew the coals
watch me blow my head up

Back and forth,
I pace endlessly in the room in my head

I cannot find it, the key
It fell somewhere, disappeared
Poof,
I am an escape artist, you put a single string on me

I hurled you out of your anchor
Watch your guts on the floor writhing
So much like a fish

You will survive,

I am the one who is gone when you wake up.
Back and forth, back and forth

I learnt how to chew the hot coals,
I learnt how to pick the locks,
I am a street artist.

Watch me paint you, with your blood, skull and teeth.

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