Musics my art,
It's like a sketch,
Sculpting a verse,
Made out of words.
The music it's the painting
,
The colours, the tones, the shades.

When the image is complete

It's a beautiful picture, expressing emotion. 

Feeling, seeing, hearing, 

It's perfection, in the motion,

It's the creation,

It's the notion,

It's your blood,
sweat tears and devotion
,
That makes it worth it in the end
.
It's the message you send

to change lives again and again.

©2017 Written By Benji James

It's perfection when I kiss your lips,
This is a desire I just can't fix,
Oh somethings just aren't meant to be,
Now I see you were never really in love with me.
I was just somebody to get you through,

until you move onto the next dude. 

I just can't find any reason why,

I should give you anymore of my time
,
you’re draining the essence of my soul.

You may have been my perfect fantasy,

but now I see, that it was all just a dream.

Now it's never gonna happen, 
no not with me.

Because I'm sick of you walking out on me,

leaving me to question everything I feel deep down inside,

and I'm so clueless as to why, 

you couldn't even give me an explanation.

Maybe I just had to much expectation, 

of trying to feel all of your sensations.

And my spirit just keeps dying,
every time you steal my breaths,

turn around and tell me to stop there.

I thought this was passion, not just lust.

Seems this whole time I thought this was love,

Oh wrong again, looks like you’re gonna reject me all over again.

And why should I be surprised?

I believed in every one of your lies.

And out of all the memories, 
you were the best of them.

There you go turning my life upside down again.

Seems nothing is making much sense, anymore.

Girl I know I'm done playing these games.

Should of seen it coming from the start,

should of known you would break my heart.

I should of known, you wouldn't play your part,

I should of known, that this would fall apart.

©2017 Written By Benji James

She's made up of lies.
There's nothing else to say.
There's always the truth.
Though that's a game she won't play.

Deception and trickery,
Is her occupation.
Something so powerful,
She could fool a whole nation.

Now she's ran out of tricks.
All her lies have been said.
There's nothing to say,
As she lay on her death bed.

How can you write what you feel,
What you know,
When you don’t?
How can I keep the words from running dry
When I’m wasting time trying to squeeze them
From the inkwell of my mind?

I am not an artist,
I am a student.

And yet everything I’ve learned
Seems to fail me.
Rhymes, meter, imagery:
Why do I know these things
If I can’t use them myself?

I am not an artist,
I am an observer.

This problem is not rare
And yet as I write about not writing
I write.
My lack of a story
Is a story itself.
Thinking is the enemy
And in this head of mine
My foe flies at me relentlessly.
Sometimes a mind overflowing with thoughts
Can hurt more than an imagination run dry.
Yet the pain only fuels me.

I am not an artist,
But I could be.

Greenhouse
Scaling flowers
A buzzing for pollen
Pinks and magentas stroke the space
Growing