Who am I in this world?
Am I a writer, who writes this manuscript in pain and sorrow?
Or am I the words that are written now,
but will be forgotten by tomorrow?
Am I an artist, who throws the blacks and whites with a wave of anger on an easel?
Or am I one of the million paintings that creates revulsion on the eyes of a viewer?
Am I a writer, who writes this manuscript in pain and sorrow?
Or am I the words that are written now,
but will be forgotten by tomorrow?
Am I an artist, who throws the blacks and whites with a wave of anger on an easel?
Or am I one of the million paintings that creates revulsion on the eyes of a viewer?