I lust the expression of depression and meddling art holds
An obsession to make an impression as a possession unfolds
I want moulds of a true artist, I oblige my mind to go wondering
Will I find my eyes open to success, or go blind from blundering?
I clench thundering pains in my brain, from powders I’ve snorted
I don’t do it for the image, but to get that image distorted
Unsorted visions imprison my head and shed thoughts that tamper
I indent my finger with the blade and blood lingers on the canvas
The plan thus, that my soul is freed in my studio of mood swings
I snort a line, find the chalk and paint what ever my mood brings
I’ve screwed rings of companions up,
Friends have been lost forever
I’m hoping that like my art, I rip them
Then they come back together,