The promoter

People tell me 

If only you learned

Maybe your words would be pretty

Maybe you wouldn't swallow the salty water

And maybe the words would sing

But I do feel like my heart writes for me

Especially when I'm angry the letters shoot 

Leaving a trail of gun powder 

And I let it slide or crash into the abyss

Of life 

Writing is a piece of your anatomy

It's part of your arms

Your legs

Your veins

You do it even when you don't hold a pen

It's all part of the brain

The last traces of thought

Were created by nothing but pure air

It will be read by nobody

Because this whole thing

Will be destroyed in a matter of minutes

In a thousand million years

I will be gone

And Earth will sink like the Titanic

It was just showbiz

And whether you like it or not

You are the artist

And the question on everyone's lips is

Who is the promoter?