Curse of ages that surrounds me now  Paintings depicting nightmares absurds  I fear what my own hands bring out of the clay  Colours out of controls melt in visions I flee  The portrait changes itself by everyday  I can't even look at my forsaken face     With it wicked eyes it lurks around  Seeking its reflection my eyes always down    It forces me to murder every night  And feed the colours with the taint of life  Roting more by everyday as I glorify misery    Icons of oblivion  Take forms into my hands  Twisted writings  As all around blurs and merges black  I forbid myself to create any further  But the creation holds me like a puppet  Pantomine without shape  I ritualise through pain    And I'm sure  That it lives  It seeks me out  It hunts me down  It feeds on me  It licks my fears  It's eyes are evolving to pure evilness  Pain. Art. Crime.  It. is. I.     The portrait changes itself by everyday  I can't even look at my forsaken face    With it wicked eyes it lurks around  Seeking its reflection my eyes always down    Scissors will cut through all this light  And bring my eyes to nothingness  How could obsessions follow me into monochromy?  I won't even see the blood of my eyes  Will reality fall with sight?  Does anything exist out of colours?  And the damned eyes of the mirror  Will they still see and look at me?