THE PAINTER
Always being the painter, and never being the muse
I, for once, decided to paint myself
Rummaged my belongings in search of the brushes
I used to have when painting was my solace
When I
THE PAINTER
Always being the painter, and never being the muse
I, for once, decided to paint myself
Rummaged my belongings in search of the brushes
I used to have when painting was my solace
When I never knew that paintings can be bad or good;
Looked everywhere yet found them not,
But I had to paint ,I had to
it was the only way to be alive
Tore apart a bone of mine
And dipped it in the red liquid
That runs through my veins
Started to paint, ignoring all my flaws
Picture perfect! I had to be
Then it was completed, at last
Oh and how perfect it was!
Till now there I lie, forever
As a lie
A perfect painting
Of a flawed painter
aleena.akn