Tortured Soul

Is my future truly luminescent?
Will it be Chariots of Fire?
Fireworks like the Fourth of July?
Is that why I suffer now?
I’ve turned into a tortured artist
Nothing pleases me
I feel compelled to find something
Always trying new things
Disturbing images fill my mind for painting
Cutting and bleeding flesh
Scorpion stinging paralyzing body
Tethers encroaching squeezing strangling heart
I don’t actually want to paint these harrowing images
But I can’t help visualizing them
I am plagued with random crying outbursts 
That permeate my melancholic soul
I’m just not happy and I can’t change it
I don’t think it’s a permanent condition 
But it’s my cross to bear for now 
And I lose sleep thinking about it
There was a time I was fully happy
Youthful, exuberant, joyful, carefree
There are times that this still comes out
But the instances are far too few
And they don’t connect with my soul;
I am acutely aware these moments are temporary
Knowledge of life revoked my naïveté and faith
My recently discovered artistic talents offer glimmer of hope
Perhaps I am building to greatness and unbounded cheer
One day I can eviscerate every instance of hurt that I suffered
That I still remember so clearly
One day I will have the tools available to do so
And my purpose of existence figured out
Until then, I’ll just be sad…


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