I Try

I try painting a picture,
But the colors refuse to shine.
Nothing but gray and black,
With some sparkles of white breaking through the plain.

I try composing a song.
The melody is pure,
The rhythm is tired,
But human emotions, so brittle and frail;
There will always be a will to hear it.

I try writing a story.
It always ends up with my own characters
Shooting me in the back of the head.
I never wanted them to hate me,
But I suppose the torment I put through
Would be enough to warrant anyone
Trying to kill their creator.