Take the best created from an active imagination to the nearest trash can and drop
Art dies in the slightest resistance of wind, promise yourself you’ll never create again
Investigation in the mirror, why, for whom, it adds fire to gloom, pumps up Doom’s chest, already dead in peace let it rest
Heard various pens laugh, papers cry fowl demanding white-out baths
An unrecognizable flag flown in mystery, easily buried without dirt in history.