I've seen it.
The metamorphosis of a soulless lunatic. He nurtured eagerly on the horrendous shrieks of his muse, which scattered like a fire on the walls of premature commitment. He dwelled in the critics disdain and chose to leave in search of forgiveness. They were handing them out for free to cowards on the other side of town.

His work of art, lying on the floor for the critics to harass and pity - somewhat beautiful in her pile of sorrow, struck a tear from her face.

This was all for you.