I’ll crush flower petals between my eyelids and label the dust literature.
You’ll buy a thousand copies and regard me as a genius.
I’ll carve open my wrists with diamonds and pour the blood on a manuscript.
You’ll call me a fool for trying too hard.
But either way I’ve tried to show you the beauty of life, and it was your choice
to cherish what you already knew over something novel.
Funny, beauty seems to run in the family.