Ode to my Toopid-Face Brain

I hate my brain for doing this
the insensitive little nut.

Every time my heart breaks, it churns out art 

like malfunctioning machinery
in a haunted, abandoned factory

It can't fix the hurt
so it gives up, leaving the task to time
I may not sleep for weeks, but hey, it's telling me I'm fine.

So I'll turn out a novel and tune out my heart
I'll paint a picture of you
I'll churn out some music, I'll focus on art
I'll manage to live with the pain

They say an artist's greatest works
come from his saddest days
all I know is that this hurts
I don't care what art has to say

But I'll turn out a novel and tune out my heart
I'll paint a picture of you
I'll churn out some music, I'll focus on art
I'll manage to live with the pain

I hate my brain for doing this
but you know, I'm sure I'll be fine.