The artist

Everybody in the gathering called himself an art lover,
But the truth behind everyone's love he could uncover,
The stark reality, his art would just cover a plain wall,
And at the end of the day, the buyer would stand tall.

Some people said they loved his usage of colors,
Some branded his brushstrokes extremely bold,
Some of them casually sipped wine, posing as donors,
Looking at the paintings that would soon be sold.

Tired of the lies, he wanted to find an excuse,
To being the best he could be, being a recluse,
But someone in the crowd raised a toast,
The artist was his friend he would boast.

Forced to make a speech, he stood in the center,
Social interaction was never his cup of tea,
He was done soon, it sounded like a little banter,
And slowly he made his attempt to flee.

And soon everyone fought,screaming out a number,
He wished every moment that he be in a slumber,
Before the numbers and people could leave him confused,
He looked around the chaos to find his next muse...