The air tastes different

Maybe it’s cause I’m spending too much time with the synthetics that my nose has forgotten

Or the cells in my body have replaced

Has it been 7 years already

Food tastes different

What used to be enjoyable seems like a chore

And I am scared for my future to which I can’t imagine the structure within it

The limitations are the same but my body is growing bored

To keep busy with a purpose is an oxymoron I wish not to participate in

But I see the idea of art having no purpose okay 

Though art always has purpose otherwise it wouldn’t be art

The art comes into existence as the artist lifts their medium and feels something

That something can either be universal or personal

I do not wish to have a personal purpose 

I believe that I was meant to help others

And I get by helping myself through the lull I am protecting and securing the future to which will be less than frugal

Which will allow me to help others

My thinking is flawed because to some extent because of disposition I still believe some art is useless

Maybe that’s why I feel so much guilt for my past

So many things that I’ve done wrong 

I feel like now my only purpose of repent can be to help others

But by helping others I am only calming my own mind

Does that make me selfish?

Am I everything they say or am I good like I believe?

Belief can always be better 

To truly be good I feel like no one can know

Or is that just a lie I tell myself to feel better