The Artist.

I tried to deprive myself of what I knew best in this world. In a way it began to feel like an addiction, no matter how hard I rejected the thought it was the only way for me to cope. 
I'm a hopeless junkie desperate for an outlet wealthier than this. 
Angry, I decided there was more to me than just self expression. 
It didn't take long until I broke down. 
Maybe that is my souls way of screaming "Purpose!" Or maybe I'm as mad as Van Gogh.
Whatever the reason, without art I don't know who I am. 

◄ Pieces.

Wild Woman (17.) ►

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