RawPixel
My art remains solemn; it’s lurking behind
Rejecting falter I turn
To inspire, I must gnaw on perfection
Regressing in a sense of self, my painted urn
Rejecting falter I stare, seethe
I convulse to the muse for what I could be
My inspiration will only critique
My muse remains distant: it mocks in front
Rejecting falter, I lurk behind
To perfect, I must yearn for inspiration
Chasing the muse, I am blind
Faltering it will turn, drinking my query
Curiosity irks for what I could be
