Written: December 12, 2007

I've Had the Pleasure of Meeting a Dead Artist

I've had the pleasure of meeting a dead artist

Once he and I were best of friends

Perhaps I would be alongside as his apprentice

Then we split ways

Burnings, cuttings, tears, lies, hatred, love, inspiration

I was lost without him (until I met a very similar artist)

He's dead to me

And never again will I ever think of him without hatred

He inspired me to create the most destructive piece of work

He inspired me to create my new self

He is no different from Picasso

Always will I admit love for his art

Always will I forget what the face of the artist was

Never would I admit my love for him

Never would I feel the same ever again

He was something new

But now I am his legacy, with a slight twist of hatred, vengeance, and blackened eyes

I must teach and learn

I've had the pleasure of meeting a dead artist

I must say that I learned much

But I vomit (sometimes voluntarily with a smile) at the thought of the journey that led me to this hellhole

I've Had the Pleasure of Meeting a Dead Muse

I've had quite the pleasure of meeting a dead muse

I worshipped the ground she walked on

I loved her with all of my heart, after my heart broke so many times over

I would tell her my stories, teach her what it meant to be human, warn her of her future

Make art in her praise

Write excellent poetry that would have made her heart cry, had she have had a heart

All lies… I realized that I wanted too much

Was she too good for me?

Was I too good for her?

Were we perfect for each other?

Or were we the worst match ever?

All of these things don't matter

Because in retrospect, I'm glad that I gave up that wench!

I don't need her anymore…

She died to me when she met another artist

How could he be better than me?

I have more experience…

I could teach her much more…

Is that not what she wanted?

Does she hate the idea that I loved her?

Ugh!

I don't need to care about that shit anymore

Because I will never regret anything because it led me to this hellhole!

I've Had the Pleasure of Meeting the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me; I've Had the Pleasure of Meeting My Adversary

I love her, I have always loved her (ever since I met her), She's mine! No one will ever have her again other than me! I don't care if she was the best friend of an artist. I don't care if she was the best friend of someone who I reminded her of. I didn't mean for any of this shit to happen. To be honest, I don't care. I love her more than anything now. She's all that matters. I still hate that bastard who caused her to feel pain. I didn't do anything wrong here. Why was I getting blamed? I don't have to live up to anyone's standards anymore. She's my muse now. I create in her name, and her name only. I only love her. Why doesn't she understand that? She tells me that she does, but I don't believe a word that she says. She needs to prove that she loves me, too. All I ever do is love her. Why doesn't she understand that? I looked in the mirror that day with her, and she told me that we were the only things that existed. I saw in the mirror and concurred. I just hope that I don't screw this up… then again, how could I? It is up to me. I'm the new artist. I've won her over, and I couldn't be any happier in this hellhole.