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Swirling a paintbrush between my fingers,
Dabbing random strokes of nothingness.
A yearning passion to paint,
Yet unable to paint what I wish,
Not wanting to paint what I can.
Topping art, yet I can't paint,
Painful laughs at seeing that mark,
What did I do to do so well,
When I feel in my heart,
That I truly can't paint.
I'm left to my vacant strokes,
With the hollow feeling ,
Of not achieving what I truly wished.