She wants to wax artistic
Her audience so rapt
Are watching every movement
As something in her snaps.
She raises up the scalpel
Her canvas takes the brunt
Of artistry in temper,
Of truth she daren't confront.
Her pencil lead stabs slowly
In repetition bland
It draws out lines, it stabs out points
Misguided by her hand.
She lifts her palette higher
As red ink starts to dash
Down lines made by the pencil
On the canvas she has slashed.
She's showing her life story
For she knows no words to say
What the horrors are that taunt her,
Flaunt her, haunt her every day.
She spills a can of petrol,
She lights a tiny match
And down her canvas one last time
Her fingernails scratch.
She throws it in the fire
And she dances round the flames
Crying, screaming and repeating:
"My life story I disclaim!"
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
She wants to wax artistic
Her audience so rapt
Are watching every movement
As something in her snaps.
She raises up the scalpel
Her canvas takes the brunt
Of artistry in temper,
Of truth she daren't confront.
Her pencil lead stabs slowly
In repetition bland
It draws out lines, it stabs out points
Misguided by her hand.
She lifts her palette higher
As red ink starts to dash
Down lines made by the pencil
On the canvas she has slashed.
She's showing her life story
For she knows no words to say
What the horrors are that taunt her,
Flaunt her, haunt her every day.
She spills a can of petrol,
She lights a tiny match
And down her canvas one last time
Her fingernails scratch.
She throws it in the fire
And she dances round the flames
Crying, screaming and repeating:
"My life story I disclaim!"
