He looked like art

Now that's an understatement because he was art

My favorite form, abstract in a sense because he had sharp edges, none as sharp as his tongue though

An odd and strange beauty that so few could understand

A beauty who's shapes I traced in my persistence to understand it

Who's being I blamed when I could not

Deeming forth a review that stated his existence was an excuse for a child's finger painting

Like harsh critics we took away it's beauty by ripping it apart by its flaws

Like critics we tore down its structure to level it to a platform which would bring us no inconvenience

And like a dying man reviewing all his regrets I have finally come to the realization that the art he was before we tore it apart was an art the stars painted in an attempt to be understood