His life was his greatest work of art; many looked at it up close and saw all the beautiful colors and strategic strokes of the brush. If only they would have taken a step back and looked at the chaos that was before them, when the whole canvas was viewed instead of just sections. He played many roles, and did them all well. He was not like the rest and nothing anyone could say would convince him of anything else. He found inspiration in people, but in one more than any – she was his muse; his reasons; his creativity. He loved her more than anything in this world – she shot him in the heart and now he’s gone; a poet, an artist, a genius – no more.