*We used to be children with nothing to hold on to*

I wish Nick Cave would give me a masterclass

on epic lines and a thousand words of loss and scary routines that smash my brain of worlds i haven´t seen.

but i need no masterclass on mistakes and daily morning mirrors and mindfulness podcasts on lovely loved nights.

Give me time a power point manageable ambition drive spread sheets and a mentor that guides a messy creation so needy to explode on a daily basis to explain loss that would never be real. Of written diaries that were violated suffocated by hammering bills and complains.

Masterclass of an ordinary common mind. We used to be children with nothing to hold on to, just a sore slap when an innocent mistake was made

Masterclass of an unmanageable and immortal teens with desire to live where all memory has been erased and on a paper the rubber remains dirty not to be cleaned just yet

Masterclass