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Behind art is a mess 
Behind genius is anybody’s guess 
I embraced the madness and endured the torture 
Pain was after all progress, 
And I was its martyr

You were delicate when you came, 
Your face like muses in a flame
You personified beauty and grace 
And you blossomed in a strange place 
So alien to me, 
Everything I wanted to be

I became the ground in which you were nurtured 
And with my nutrients you flowered, 
And came to tower above me 
You couldn’t get enough of me 
And I gave you your color, 
Stained from the fluid of my veins 
Beauty is pain, 
And a rose by any other name?
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