Murder of An Artist
He was broken by hard times
No one could see
Because he was good in act like these
Working to fulfill a dream
To be a star the only thing,
Spend years to be it
That only thing for him became everything.
But the vicious industry
Shedded his only dream
He was feeling left out
There starts the hard time.
In his loud laugh and relief sighs
There's murmurs of depression and anxiety,
The irony strikes when he was walking in crowds
With absent mind.
Nothing can heal the pain that won't mend
The suffering , the pain and ache
Now he feels like it's his end
Grudges are held
Feeling were hurt, the obsession he's been working for
Now nothing he felt
So he let go everything
Without saying a goodbye.
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