A Complicated Artist

What’s this fantasy I once had

This life of an artist

In the cafes in paris

Drunk and depressed in a bar but a genius

The world too much

For a sensitive soul like mine

What choice do I have

Than to get fucked up in a dark bar

And write poetry

Or paint some dumbshit painting

In the night

At four am

When everyone

Is sleeping through

Their square lives



One time this girl I loved

Told me that I wasn’t that complicated
 
She said it

Over the phone

Breaking up with me

Saying it

Like she was disappointed

Like she would have liked me

If I had wild mood swings

If I had disappeared and not told her where

I just had to be by myself

I imagine I could say


There was art that had to come out of me

I would say to her with confidence

And then she would forgive me

And we would fuck

And she would be happy

With her complicated artist