Colors drop into deep shades of black,
I had a stack of drawings it made columns,
Imagination is something i never lack,
But my happiness has turn to solemn,
I always try to do my best,
Never seeking this in myself,
But maybe it's time to art to rest,
and leave it to collect dust on the middle shelf,
I don't know the cause of my depression,
This kills me more than all comprehension,
So listen up as I teach a lesson,
Only if you're willing to pay attenion,
I lose interest to easily,
This happens to me repeatedly,
you think it's silly,
why dont you spit at my work and call it shitty,
i want honesty not you pity,
But i chose to keep going,
Like a snow strom it will keep snowing,
Every gesture i draw,
Never stopping has become a new law,
People don't expect anything new,
So are you the type of person that i have to show what the fuck i can do,
i will hit you with something that will suprise you,
my art is a sickness worse than the flu,
while i hold my pencil in my left hand,
my imagination will be heard louder than a marching band,
colors on paper being whirled,
objects being curled,
this is just a little of my own world.
