Love is indeed the most tragic form of art.

With your sweet lips,
On which oft
I yearn to plant a kiss,
Slander me not please!

My lodestar
You must know
A  drop of gal
The wellspring of honey
Is capable to mar!

And I guess it's just comforting.
To slip back into my old ways of feeling nothing.
I guess having someone by my side was never meant to be for me.
And I guess it doesn't really bother me that I'm wandering through life alone.
Yeah sometimes it gets cold.
But smooth seas never made great sailors.
So I guess it's time to see what life has in store for me.
While I try to stay strong as I try to keep my dignity.

Regret is a doorless cage
That we put ourselves in.
And we stay and dwell within it
Despite our longing to leave.

My words; my words are my paintbrush.
My words; my words are my voice.  
My words are my expression, my thoughts, my way of life.
What I write are my words.
What you write are your words.
Like a painter what I write is a masterpiece. To me.
My words have meaning, my words have life.
My life, is my words.