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.