Maybe destiny has hired me as an artist,
because reality has enslaved me in fear.
Expression, energy, creation,
build skyscrapers in my heart.
My ultimatum, my holy mecca,
my curse, my disease with no antidote,
Art, is something I create.
I am the pilot, of my own invention.
The master, of my own valleys.
The designer, of my peaks.
The king, of my own demise.
It is alternate realization,
a world, spilling out of my own fingers.
Maybe I am an artist,
because I am too scared to lose,
to not create,
something that will never leave,
unless I throw it away.
I am an artist,