My muse is…you.
Artistic minds are like…torture.
The one I have drives me crazy.
You think I wanted to become an artist?
This is what the darkness promised…
It awoke the poet.
Aren’t we all just born to die?
Then, please don’t quit your daydreams.
I was told we either fade away or carpe diem.
So I immersed myself in this art.
With pieces of paper & a pen, I built artwork.
I stacked up the journals like it was all my treasures.
I had freedom of expression, so there would be no trespassers.
A work of art for everyone to see rather.
The happiness & blues from my soul from which I have gathered.
It comes up on these pages like I’ve found the answers.
But really to the lost soul my words are just romancers.
It comes from truth, yet also my own broken wings.
Too rarely do I spread what’s been healed to live out any of my whisperings.
I’ll be here forever on these pages dying to escape my suffering.
What a perfect paradoxical purgatory.
The artist lives to build a bittersweet laboratory.
Die from our own inventions & discoveries like Marie Curie.
Live to fully embrace & never leave this labyrinth.
Know we became artists when we had nothing.
Know we found art when we lost everything.
So we do feel as if we owe this World of art a little something.
So with these words, here’s my heart.
From the bottom of it, thank you for listening.
It was really fun being able to connect minds.