The artist who paints and strokes and wonders and wanders and gazes and grazes.
The artist whose eyes fix and stare and hone and are in and are out.
The artist whose touch is cold to skin but warm to canvas.
The artist who works and suffers and suffers through work and suffers to work.
The artist who is created by suffering.
The artist whose suffering creates.
The artist who feels love but not for another.
The artist who loves love.
The artist who loves pain.
The artist who loves desire.
The artist who loves creation.
The artist who loves destruction.
Never my artist.
Never me in the eyes of the artist.
Only the me the artist has created.
Only the me the artist wants to create.
The artist who feels too much to feel for me.
The artist who moves too much to keep my grip.
The fickle artist.
The mad artist.
The blind and deaf and forever mute artist.
The artist who brings me nothing but pain.
The artist who I desperately cling to.
I crave the artist.
I need the artist.
I am an artist.
Artist, let us be crazy together.
Artist, let us suffer and create through each others eyes.
Artist, let us love who we think we are.
Artist, let us hate.
Artist, break my heart.
Artist, break my jaw.