I am an artist,
With a blank state,
And I raise mountains in my lungs,
With breaths of cold air,

I am a painter,
I eat swords, I eat fire,
You can call me Cassandra,
You can call me a liar,

I am a writer,
But my pen has no ink,
You won't laugh at my words but I won't make you think,

I am a fortress,
And I will pull through,
If you bleed for me,
then I'll bleed for you

I am vilified,
Because my stories are old,
Yet as hard as I try,
I can't spin them to gold.