Mysterious Misery

An artist who can’t draw goes unspoken
His art remains in dreamland but he’s woken
He’s fictitiously rich but non-fictitiously relies on cocaine
His artwork is clear in his brain but stays clear of his page
His hands and brain don’t speak the same language
His imagery’s in vain if un-portrayed onto the page

The blank page stares at him blankly
With the same empty expression as the page when he goes to Barclay's
His life frustrates him because he’s always angry
His art escapes him, he’s now a mockery

Reality gapes in but he has no art to escape in
Fantasy breaks in, clutches him and saves him
His gallery’s blazing and selling for 10 mill
Fans have been waiting, 10 hours to pay-in
His art-show is trending His account is blessing
The critics are gaping, their pages are warming
Their bottom jaws dropping, while they’re just applauding

He appears to be lost in the grip on his noggin
Reality’s knocking, the artist is not in
He’s currently sobbing, the page absorbing
His tears are now locked in, and the page is unlocking
Words are now flowing and the page is now filling

The pace is now shocking, there’s no way he’s stopping
Reality walks in and sees his head nodding
It goes to its stocking and hands him a gold quill