Behind art is a mess
Behind genius is anybody’s guess
I embraced the madness and endured the torture
Pain was after all progress,
And I was its martyr
You were delicate when you came,
Your face like muses in a flame
You personified beauty and grace
And you blossomed in a strange place
So alien to me,
Everything I wanted to be
I became the ground in which you were nurtured
And with my nutrients you flowered,
And came to tower above me
You couldn’t get enough of me
And I gave you your color,
Stained from the fluid of my veins
Beauty is pain,
And a rose by any other name?
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