Art?

The world is disgusting. It makes me ill. It makes me vomit so hard, my throat and the insides of my mouth are worn down until they are raw and bleeding. Then I throw once again, this time I seemingly puked blood. The results, a mess of blood, food remains and some vile liquid are a perfect metaphor for my world. I guess it could be called art.

The world is painful. It makes me cry and bleed. Tears and scars form, visual sorrow. Pure despair in a tangible form. Blood drips and I feel so wrong as I lick it up like some animal. Another metaphor for my world, I suppose this could also be considered art.

The world is gone. For me at least it is. I lie, twisted, broken, diseased. Cold and lifeless, stained with regret. Can this poor, pitiful corpse also be called art?