If not for the sake of the journey
There is little to be found in the exercise
Of expanding the mind artistically
What would be most difficult
Becomes a perceived mountain to climb
And when it becomes apparent
That perfection is a lie
We search for the next mountain to climb
What will we find next?
Are muses real? They haunt, taunt and flaunt. Revealing my weaknesses like a storefront mannequin.
I don’t believe anything I just wrote. Do I?