Still Life

Artists capture moments for eternity In dried paint mimicking life But the stiff edges of them Are unable to show the emotions That flow off of everyone Softening their edges Bleeding more than my open vein Their colors are unable to resemble The stark red of my blood On the recently bleached porcelain Or pinpoint each star Of the galaxies within his eyes Nor are they able to blend their paints To show how the simple white pills Absorb the colors of my palm Or how they make each of his movements So drastic and sharp The way her body turns and twists When the music pulses within her Is something artists have yet to paint They may grasp how her hair twirls around her Getting stuck on her lipgloss But it will never look right Without the motion behind it The lack of music is deafening in their portraits They tried to capture the beauty of a songbird In a soundproof glass box

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