Artists are selfish

Dance with me

and break my heart, tell me im empty

it makes my art, full and plenty.

What chance would I take

to sacrifice my faith

in another romance?

and by the way-

Don’t we understand- this is just a game?

wont all my paintings and all my poems-

have names?

Work with what I have

the best work comes from my own hands.

I can paint their souls-

but never my own.

Has anyone ever told you, that yours is gold?

It’s what I’ve struck

cause, the inspiration now,

is a nonstop influx.

Imagining beautiful little situations,

that don’t really exist.

it’s a cancerous mass

to have faith in idealistic’s,

things that never come to pass.

There’s no end to my fuse

once I lose a beautiful little muse.

Stop trying to refuse

I’ll stop making my art about you.