Break me or make me,
I am lost either way.
I am just a plaster
waiting to be molded.
I have no direction or courage,
To save me from my despair.  
I am the prisoner of comfort.
Shake me up,
I cannot stay.

The Doubts,
The constant,
Sporadic,
Persistant,
Doubts.
Riding on a ferris wheel,
Going up and down,
Riding through the wave,
Then all alone in my cave.  
Going up and down.  
The doubts
Come and go,
Set me free,
Then prison me in bitter sprees.
Oh, leave me be.
There is no room for doubt,
That is the key.

He asked her,
What is art, my dear?
     Art is life.
     Life is art.
     Everything around is art.
     The way you smile,
     The way you write,
     The way I read.
     Everything is art
        Only in different expressions.