I Need To Be An Artist.




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 need the bad weather, I pretend that my friends have it in for me
I'll paint and obscene, scene of grief just to receive sympathy
Arts within me, the insanity and inhumanity with twists
Are the people shocked by my pieces, or the pieces off my wrists?
I couldn’t give a shit, well that’s the attitude I need to posses
In love with the life of stress, mess and to pain I’m obsessed
I’ve dressed my nose with cocaine, slow reductions of my brain
My minds on a simple plain, but far from simple and plain
I'll never regain what’s vanished, damaged years of my health
But I NEED to be an artist, cause arts an art in itself
Himself and I are attached, simply matched with a passion
Of displaying naked images, visions in our own kind of fashion
Satisfaction is a bonus, my hopeless body floats as a vapor
Rushing threw life none existent from paper to paper.


Signed
Oliver Kenyon