Let's be honest… most of the time, reality sucks.
The Dark Danger of Art
by p.b. wells
every artist is a fugitive.
the actor steps into another life
and finds the man he might have been.
the singer opens her mouth
and discovers a voice
braver than the one she lives with.
the painter builds a world
where the light falls perfectly
and nothing beautiful
must apologize for existing.
the writer invents people
who understand him,
women who stay,
friends who do not betray,
and gods who occasionally
answer the goddamn telephone.
the curtain drops.
the music stops.
the paint dries.
the final page is turned.
come back to the bills,
the empty bed,
the polite conversations,
the little daily failures
stacked like dirty dishes
beside the sink.
why leave a world
where you are loved
for one where you are merely tolerated?
why abandon the people
who know your soul
just because they never took a breath?
reality calls it make-believe.
reality has always been
an arrogant bastard.
most artists learn
to cross the border
and return each night.
some begin forgetting
which side is home.
they remain in the character,
the song,
the painting,
the unwritten chapter.
people say they lost themselves.
or maybe they finally found
the only self
they could bear to live with.
the only place
they felt at home.
and when reality came knocking,
they turned out the lights,
held their breath,
and refused
to answer.
https://www.deviantart.com/pbwells
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