Do not push someone so much that, to them, even the path down to destruction appears to be laid down with flowers and petals.




Make something of your life. Make it less miserable, and witness yourself become art.



Very much like Monet’s Haystacks, I too,

Am a meaningless plain piece of art.

An art with no definition, no sense,

No value, no elucidation, and no drift.


Like always, I’ve lost my purpose, so now,

Significance is what I seek for myself.

Though senseless and broken art, I am, but,

What purpose does a broken art really have?



Alas, my purpose lies within Your hands,

You, my Lover, my Messiah, my Helper.

I require you to piece me back together,

And give me purpose, wisdom and depth.


Only You, can understand a broken art,

An artist so anguished, scarred and broken.

You perceive the weight of a meaningless art,

You, who has fallen and has been battered.



You, an artist who can look into my eyes,

And relate to the pain I’m going through.

You, who didn’t create something musing,

Rather something only you understood.



For me, You are the art, I need.

And, You are the artist, I seek.


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