Art Is Dead Poem by Azarok Koraza

Art Is Dead

Slayer of the slain, here to fill you to the brim with pain not fame. Oh wait whats the difference. Its a instance joyance substance that takes & rakes leaving scars that nude eyes can't see, flee theirs still time to stop feeding into this rhyme. Pay a dime for your trouble but you say its worth a million when did you turn into a villain filling hearts with air leaving just a pair of shells,  causing hell, now crowds turning, no longer yearning your stomach churning how much pain will it take to make your fame worth that dime that am willing to give, you see i'd hand over a dollar but you gave 100% for nothing so I figured you'd accept a tenth, hence the dying crying hearts of fans now leaving in vans, Cramming in packed but not the sits below your feet but the halls to the front gate, starting to be filled with hate was this all just a big mistake? Heart ache taking over, falling over your own self-less- face. Hold up a mirror hear ya yelling seeing hells fires all around you ready to take you the fake you the hack. No, no this is the real you, you gave up who you were for that million now what is it doing you? making a wall of green blocking the door your hitting the floor looking for a way out sitting there blaming fate saying this all started over a silly date so so much hate. Veins boiling stains uncovered, fame dis-covered. new media praise now covered in hash nothing but a foggy career that's laughable now, slowly turning into a cow standing there on the belt whipping you closer & closer to the slaughter house, oh snap, the crack of the whip reminds you of your daughter the reason you got into all this now just a thing of the past all grown up no thanks to you or your stacks of the false all mighty. dollar, little flower is taking a shower trying to get all your name off she doesn't want to just f*** off no following the leader to the open door. Shes leading those to the pin hole with no fear to fall, she learnt from a father a failure & a true father the truth. Learnt all she needed now shes turnt, from you, you can just go screw like you did her mother, no not the day you made the most important thing to you in your life but when you walked out the door brief case leaving the hard floor just like the brief case you left for why you were leaving just to go start big dollar thieving. Now your grieving pleading knees bleeding. Shiver shiver, cry her a river, cry on that floor with a case overwhelmed with fameless words, but its to late, left there bleeding where you should of be taking heed. Pleading done, Bleeding done. Crying done. fame done. Dying beginning with no end.




If your broken, i'll destory you.


to rebuild you.

Can't fix whats just broken.

Your gonna tell me were just gonna pull the leaning tower upright? no were gonna finishing pushing it & make it better so this time it would stand tall.

The flaws help you stand out why its famous but whats fame but pain.

When your ready to be one you just say the words & seek it in your heart & it shall be done, never to late.


I wrote this inspired by bo burnham special and more to the point song art is dead.
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