I need to be an Artist.

aborted

I lust for the depression, the aggression art holds
The obsession to make an impression as a possession unfolds
The moulds of a true artist, I let my mind go wondering
Sometimes opens my eyes to success, or I go blind from blundering
Thundering pains in my head, from powders ive snorted
I dont do it for the image, but to get that image distorted
Unsupported and unstable, living in my studio of mood swings
A bottle, some chalk and paint what ever my mood bring

Ive screwed rings of companions up,
Friends have been lost foreve
Im hoping that like my art, I rip them
Then they come back together,

My head is the weather, but rains what it often releases
Art was my confidence boost, delivered messages in my pieces
It increases my amount of depression, I have an obsession for pain
My minds on a simple plain but far from simple and plain
Cocaine assists this chalk to the paper, makes inspiration flow
Without it my mind is blank like this paper, allows the foundation to grow
And although this hobby eats away at me, and cuts of my health
I need to be an artist because art is an art in its self
Himself and I are attached simply matched with a passion
Of displaying our naked images in our own kind of fashion
Satisfaction is a bonus, my body now floats as a vapor
Rushing threw life none existent from pieces of paper.