Actors

Ink is what the poet bleeds.

Their wounds inspire with incredible speed.

Melodies are what singers cry.

Bringing tears of joy at night.

Hurt is what the painters paint.

They give something so we can relate.

Oh but that are bound.
They are chained for they are stuck in their pain.
Reminiscing their long gone muse, not 
forgetting what they had to lose.
Yes, alas their downfall is others' greatness.
Set free, yes you are.
Free from a lovers curse.
Only recalling the lines you rehearsed.
But wait my dear, if you aren't the poet, the singer or the artist, 
then aren't you just an actor?