who said letting go was easy?

i am the Michelangelo of all nostalgic memories
a failed genius that burned all of his paintings
nothing sacred
I chiseled off all the faces of every sculpture
dead empires
they, they were never good enough

frayed brushes with dried pain stuck to each strand
my inspiration faltered
every mistake
that I have ever made
in there essence, their being, i stare at the blank canvas
bleeding contempt for myself, I am a has been.

I am the Mark Twain of all that gave up,
but who said it was easy, even from my bed
a museum of past wants, of could have been's
I lye unashamed, but still blaming the world
for this internal

where was that life teacher when you needed them?
who told every child to follow there dreams?
where is that bastard so I can string him up?
next to every single failure
departure of self
damn God for blessing me with talents I can never use.
cursed womb of the mother!