I did it for my art

You could chalk it up to me being fucked up over my childhood. I did it for my art, though. I wanted to pick at the dark recesses of other’s sick minds. I did it to write about it. So I’d know what it was like: what it felt like, what it looked like. Looking in the scariest places of the city I found what I wasn’t looking for. Death, drugs, pain, loss. I knew what I was doing.