Your art isn't good you just have impossibly smooth skin
you smile on a whim, your eyes don't make the wrong sort of creases.
I have become desensitised to seeing your chest bare
but more aware of revealing my own skin without careful lighting.
We both schedule updates for maximum traction,
but your art has a link in your bio.
Reach 10k and you can swipe up on your story
fame, power and glory
they only come to the worthy.
Your art is not the prints you sell on your web shop
and we both know that images one hundred snaps in the making
have more impact on the masses
and leave young boys shaking.
I clutch at my lifeline starting to wonder about:
what level of Photoshop it takes to reconstruct your face;
what you looked like before your worth reached triple digits
those who rush to a notification to watch you paint a canvas
in underwear that you were sent in a promotional offer -
do you know them by name or are your buyers anonymous?
I wonder if it is detest or desire
I feel stirring in my stomach.
Your art isn't good, but perhaps it is both.