My God complex is strong.
That's why I'm a writer, try to follow along.
I can share my ideals, paint the nicest light.
Step myself on a pedestal where to your height I'm twice as high.
I can paint myself like the good guy,
Select the angle that you view me with a thin lie.
A poet just committed suicide,
He stepped off that ledge with a call of "I don't wanna die."
A novelist just went broke,
He spent two years and poured his heart and soul,
He worked and wrote and slaved away,
He was proud and confident and wrote day in and out day.
But no one would buy and he spent his all to be self published,
He wasted his life away on what others considered rubbish.
A painter just burned all of his brushes.
He sick and tired of being told his dreams are worthless.
That though he can paint and create beautifully,
It will not help him realistically.
So he burns the brushes, flings the paint, rips his canvas.
He's mad, he's ruined, his dreams have been deserted.
We as artists are not respected unless successful.
I intend to be successful and so I must play you careful.
YOU ARE READING
Honesty Hour
PoetryI'm a liar. A dirty, dirty, secretive liar. The only honesty about me is shown through my writing. (yes the cover is a selfie I don't know how to do covers I'll change it later)
