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.
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