What is the same between the two,
which such a tie in the heart and my art?
Why has my eyes become askew?
Ever since that sad depart.
When my heart was clouded so was my mind,
the brush shook and my art turned sad.
But when came hope, there came the time.
Creativity sparked and nothing was bad,
I could do anything and my art was free.
When I spoke to thee then I learned
but doubt returned and claimed what was me.
You're my muse the one that can left be burned.
There's no bonds with my art, you, and I.
Art has no feelings it's just one beautiful lie.
View User's Journal
Eh anything I like to write down
If you want me to make a story for your avi just pm me~
If you want me to write a poem just read any poems I have listed
 |
