The Dark Artist Rewrite

An artist's pen Whose veins are of Cold black ink, that bleed Through the pages of time. Fear not for dark realms, Of torture, are but ignorant myths. I have found solace In the arms of Morpheus Under clouds whose wings Block sunlight's irritating touch. Such is the life of a writer Whose works are the envy of mortals, Hated and labeled as a filthy curse. Listen no more, for such hypocrisy Is the symphony of fools. Dark Artist, Death, Greatness is misunderstood. Hiding behind broken hearts Are the noblest of intentions. Emancipator of souls You give rest to those Trapped in a game of kings. Your scythe paints a masterpiece, Your scythe writes a beautiful tragedy. You are the perfect ending to our tragic story.