I am an artist, Though I cannot paint. I cannot write a novel. I cannot act in a film.
Yet I am an artist, My paintbrush is my razor. My story is told through my tears. My film is life and my smile- is the main character.
I am an artist, An artist with a dark truth. A hidden story, And a made up happy ending. I am an artist, An artist that has ran out of space- for my crimson creativity. An artist that has cried my last story; An artist that has pretended for the last day.
I am an artist, An artist who has done my time, And has been beaten by sadness. I am an artist,
An artist who’s art is not appreciated. An artist who never reach the height of- worlds noticeability, An artist whose art will die as I do.
I was an artist, Until my art took over me, And now – I exist not.