Art without audience

Why do I persist
When there is no audience
To drink up my performance
 
I put myself into words
A product of my narcisism
Weaving my reality into art
 
There is no money to be had
As my truth rings true
Only for the few
 
My name has no fame
As I fail the social game
Unable to sell myself
 
There is the possibility
That my art is apauling
And lacks the key to longevity
 
All thats left is myself
Flailing at the vast expanse
Creating for my own pleasure
 
Of course I desire an audience
But I compulsively persist in my art
Even when no one cares to see.

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