The starving artist
full of passion and hurt
His only possession is the dream
Everyday he wears his dream like a shirt
Meaningless conversations hit nerves
Only he can feel and express into words
Time that could be better spent on plotting
Spent on talk of broken women and gold watches
Watch that time tick daily
Thinking deep praying the people never hate me
The starving artist
Empty stomach and heart
Working on perfecting his craft
Reminiscing about the now distant start
Afraid of failure more than anything
Fearing the day it all falls apart
No backup plan
No such thing as something else
Knowing your only talent
Will either take you down
Or bring you wealth
The starving artist
In such a delicate place
Exhibiting frustration
Touchy conversations on thoughts
Of never making it
You can see the passion
No way of faking it
So many broken nights
Causing you to procrastinate
Trying to get a jump on life
Before it's too late