Words of a Fool

I begin to realize, how foolish all that I have written is, how foolish my thoughts, feelings can be.
Is it the fate of every true romantic to be deafeated by the cold blow of reality?
will the flowers in my heart continue to wither away ?
or is it that I am too weak to face the harsh realities of the world each and every day?
suffering can be the catayst to maturity... in a certain masochistic way, I feel that suffering builds the artist.
i am no artist, i am just a foolish wannabe...

i hope to remain faithful to myself, even through the inevitable pain and suffering that lies ahead, I hope to water the flower each day. i won't let the world defeat me..
alas, these are mere words, and I am fearful of the future.

another glass of jack is being emptied...another cig is burning
and the clock ticks on..the heartless bandit.