Standing on the balcony of my mom’s and mine shabby three room appartment, I’m breathing in the warm nocturnal air.

I’m listining to Korn’s “Love & Luxery”
“You need a reason to believe, a reason to deceive, a reason for the song you're singing”

With every breath I'm taking I’m sucking in eccentric feelings.
I am an artist; a poet. Not perfect. Not even good, if you compare me to others. But there’s something to define me.
With a pencil in my hand and my fingers on the keyboard of my computer, I’m creating what I am. I'm painting, I'm writing.
I am an artist; a poet, a dreamer, a jerk, a child, a looser, a sucker. An eccentric human being.
Don’t call me supercilious

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