Passion or Technique

I am a the pressed flower in your bookmark Beautiful on the surface Dead inside Sooner or later The death will work it's way out Plaguing what was once loved I am the salt in the sea That flavors your tears Left over from the fit of screaming With your mother Followed by the voided silence You look at her and see the same salt I don't understand the feelings I have sometimes They push to get out In any form of expression I am the passion in your art But I am also the technique You can choose which means more in the end