The art I use has no meaning
I use be radiate happiness
Creating art is no longer in me
I willow away like leaves falling off during autumn.
People tried to push me towards my dream.
But my depression took it's grip.
And there went my dreams down a dark spiraling hole.

Art saved my life for the longest time.
As well as many other things.
But all the things I used to love and enjoy.
Are slipping out of my hands.
Then what will happen?
The dark cloud will consume me like it had many unknown others.