I am no great poet,
or skilled novelist,
I am a lover.
Which I deem is both greater and worse.
I do not write
or squabble.
I write all of you down on paper
with my heart,
squeezed into my pen.
Your beauty overtakes my canvas
But I am no artist either.
You make the strokes,
as if I am your puppet
and I paint you down,
a billionaire's masterpiece.
You skin me alive,
until all my worries subside.
For all I am
Is what you do to me.
Tell me, what am I?
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC
I am no great poet,
or skilled novelist,
I am a lover.
Which I deem is both greater and worse.
I do not write
or squabble.
I write all of you down on paper
with my heart,
squeezed into my pen.
Your beauty overtakes my canvas
But I am no artist either.
You make the strokes,
as if I am your puppet
and I paint you down,
a billionaire's masterpiece.
You skin me alive,
until all my worries subside.
For all I am
Is what you do to me.
Tell me, what am I?
