Dear Me (Hoping it will Arrive Before it is Too Late)

Tongue tied artists born to be politicians are hunting down thoughts as we sleep. Hunger for inspiration, they beat it down and feast on it with savage fingers. They killed their prey, their helper, their freedom and their passion with a single changing thought of harvesting their creations like crops and fluffing their brains with the white noise of victory as they stand in their minds 8 feet tall and powerful, but act helpless as they do so. The defenselessness of their defensiveness turns people away for the sake of their brilliance and the preservation of their ignorance. The last gasping breath of creativity breaks in the air as the artist is unknowingly left alone in their self-respected genius in the sufficating night they wish to call home.