You're a canvas smothered in fragmented glass
Mirror of beauty,
Aesthetics of God.
You're a plastic portal to the Ideal form,
Propped up on a cliff,
It leads to a brick wall.
Try to delve into yourself
Obsessed with the shining garbage on the outside
But it doesn't exist
It's just a painting.
You slice your hands as you attempt to claw your way inside
Blood dripping and staining and real,
It doesn't exist
You're just a painting
Painted by you,
Painted by them,
Painted by us.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
You're a canvas smothered in fragmented glass
Mirror of beauty,
Aesthetics of God.
You're a plastic portal to the Ideal form,
Propped up on a cliff,
It leads to a brick wall.
Try to delve into yourself
Obsessed with the shining garbage on the outside
But it doesn't exist
It's just a painting.
You slice your hands as you attempt to claw your way inside
Blood dripping and staining and real,
It doesn't exist
You're just a painting
Painted by you,
Painted by them,
Painted by us.
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