If these walls could speak,
They'd tell you all about Art;
Whispers from spray cans.*

- (A.F)

Write* me down
Paint me bright
Draw me beautiful
Watch me fight

Know my heart
Feel my soul
Think about me
Don't lose control

Don't let me fade
Don't let me die
Show me the way
Don't make me cry

Sing my chorus
Type my plays
Remember my words
Love me **always

It's Drawing class
And I sit here  
Not willing to draw
Geometrical shapes
Or figures
But I want to draw
How the butterflies
In my stomach
Flutter when I
Am with you
How my eyes
Twinkle when they
Gaze into yours
The birds who appear
Whenever the sight
Of you approaches        
The list may
Go on and on but
Out of all of these
This would be the easiest
And the hardest:
A life without you

all your cigarettes
there's smoke in your soul
i swear you're asking for death
(more than the rest of us)
I have words inked in my bloodstream
you have them inked on your skin
you're WALKING ART babe but
art doesn't die

I have drawn portraits
charcoals  of Saints
who stayed in one plane
for 200 hours, not moving a hair.

I built a castle, over a hill,
which one I forget.
I have painted oils,
landscaped with smiley faces,
they might look as if they have boils.

I have written, specious, meaning one thing saying another,
poems and probably will do again.
I have laid with Mona Lisa naked,
her perfect breath breathed
into my head.

I have chased Dragons, had a princess by her long hair,
her breast a white snowy her mouth the pinkest gasp.
I have stood taller and fallen farther.
I would, gladly,
do it all again.