She knew she was an artist
Who never lent a brush
A stroke.
A poet
Without writings
Thoughts which never
Awoke.
Happiness or misery
For each held
The same response
A denial for life
A loathing for living
She did not care that much
For emotion through which
She came
Or emotion which others
Endure
She knew she was an artist
For that you can be sure
But in the end
With life and death
Emotions are all the same
For in the end
For all she knew
She did not know
Her name.
Tab across Texas 