It is painful at times,
Seeing those born with skill and talent.
They paint such beautiful things, using the barest of material.
Entire worlds are spun at their fingertips, all from a dot of paint.
I think sometimes, of how nice it must be,
To be able to capture such beauty, within the borders of a page.
To spin a tale from but the smallest of phrases,
To create a fantastic adventure from a mundane experience.
It is painful indeed at times. When I am seated in this room,
Surrounded by the dull hum of failure and regret,
I ask myself, with eyes burning in the mirror,
Am I finally ready to give it all up?
'No!' I say
I will not let it end this way!
Not without a fight, not until I know that I am utterly broken.
The good lord may have blessed you with talent my friend,
He has given you everything that I could have ever desired...
But there is one thing that I have earned;
One little gift that remains my own.
You would not know of it,
Since you have never felt it,
And that is the pain of being a loser.