The artist in me, the part you can't see, is screaming. I'm stuck like being in a locked car without a key and electric windows. Barely enough air to breathe. I want out. I have to pace myself, because it's not my car. It's OK though. Because I have to go with you. I am stuck. I tried the window and it opened. There is air. Until the one in charge gets to cold?Why did I come on this trip? The artist in me is dying. Is it dead? If I am watered will it come back to life like a plant? The morning dew made me come alive. I had a nice drink bathed in dew. It was a little chilly but it felt so good. Dewy. I want to go to sleep so I can wake up again. A new morning. A drop of water. Enough to keep me going till I get out of this car.
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this poem is about being obligated to someone you love, and hating that person at the same time.