The Art of Living

I don't know how to tell you this Lately everything has just been a mess I'm hanging from your every word Like a suicidal stranger on the edge of a bridge They're all yelling don't jump My senses say that the rush of of falling would be enough To tell my poor soul That all I want is control over my life again The moon hangs like a calling card from home They tell me it's not normal to be nocturnal I wish they'd tell me something I don't know They've been sending me messages is foreign code Telling me that I need to conform Have a kid, get a job and change my clothes Well I can't say the same for everyone I'm just trying to live my dreams Without having to wake up They shake their heads shamefully When I tell them I'm focused on becoming something When did society become about what you can contribute I thought we only had this one body One life to live through If I spend it stoned Writing from home Dead set on releasing a book in the winter Well I won't have done much At least I can say I've been trying to make it Although everyone seems to think it's easy being a writer That makes my blood boil I'd been writing sesame street fan fiction as a three year old girl My way of life My passion became a fad over night So I might die broke Unable to reconcile my passion with The world I've come to know No wonder I've always loved Van Gogh