Art Official

Retracing my steps

In hopes to find

Some trace of me that may be somewhere left behind

There’s a fear, there’s a point, there is a problem

What if what I find won’t solve them?

And I wonder why I have no motivation

I guess I just answered my own question

I’m not the golden boy so don’t shine me on

I’m the bastard son of romantic Babylon

With veins that are all fashioned out of copper

A past design not destined to be conquered

But like anything

There is a flaw

Inscripted deep

That may explain

Everything