No Artist ((just a fake))

She masquerades as an artist,
recieving the compliments of those who surround her with distaste.
No creativity in her stupid, blank mind,
just faltering rhymes and fading photographs to waste.

Every second that turns over in her mind,
drives her just another little step towards crazy.
There's a clock in her every piece of failure,
for time controls her, you see.

She never was a perceptive artist,
always too literal in her thinking and sense.
Tied to the ground with lips sewn shut,
her desire to scream becomes solid and dense.

All the black crows and butterflies fade away,
shifting into fallen, deadened leaves.
Black veils sleep beneath blank eyes,
for her false, half-life she grieves.