Decaying Gold dripping down my arm

What is art? I wonder; as I devour those mangoes and decaying gold drips down my arm. The sky is lava this summer — the sun's witness, all it wanted to be, was cotton candy. I take long showers these days & watch my bathroom walls being slowly engulfed by the canvas of Salvador Dalí….

“Imposter!” I sigh, this might just be another of my favourite psychosomatic episodes where I try to decipher the complex geometry of the basement cobwebs and figure that I might need half a dozen more eyes.

Summer is sinking her teeth into my bones, too bad my heart doesn't have one. Because if my heart is breaking, maybe I'll write a poetry about it. 

But they said, art is a madman's job and for now, I'll take a quiet life thanks.