Our art becomes our monsters,
haunting our minds and plaguing us with fear.
We feed them yet, pouring our souls,
and still closer their shadow forms draw near.

Lo! The horror they instill now sharpens,
and vivid beasts they do become.
The soul of an artist is destruction,
to a mind with nary the heart to overcome.

So pray fast! Let our souls be endless,
and feed the demons all our sin.
For those monsters fed to completion,
is art actualized, within.