My hand grips the brush and my blood begins to rush,
As my fingers lead with stroke after stroke
My Artdiction commands me to obey.
The canvas calls out my name and lures me into its grasp,
I'm unable to resist, its hold, its clasp.
But I don't care, to my body its like breathing air,
It makes me feel fulfilled My Artdiction.
I'm Artdictied to the smell of the paint,
inhale, exhale, I'm about to faint.
But I don't fall, the canvas won't let me,
absorbing my paint, to show it protects me.
The birth of my vision,
the portrait smiles seductively back at me,
the canvas starts drying,
My Artdiction is born,
and my baby starts crying.