You empty being, your existence is beyond me
forming poor armour from other's thoughts
being a replica, a dead vein
you're just a nobody for silence beats your voice
You despise us for having the life
you don't have a chance of
so you live somebody else's
brush stroking your world, you ungifted painter
of pictures colourless and vain
Reality makes your brush fall from your hand...
Your colours being everywhere have enough of it, they rise against you
your work is creating you, you became one, but it's all beyond you now
My hands are resting now...slight noise coming to my ear...where you came from others are arriving
Lifting up my own brush I carry on painting...I just can't let it be... |
