there is a picture that hangs in my mind
a portrait that that has been there for years
it captures the sights i've long left behind
broad strokes painted with sorrow and tears
sometimes it appears as a beast of the night
or a porcelain lady shrouded in black
and though there is no danger or impending fright
there's always an inconspicuous attack
i've tried over and over to shroud this cruel work
to somehow destroy it or hide it away
but it seems always to remain with it's mocking frame
and its colors morose with a hue of dismay
it will probably hang for as long as i live
to ruin what i receive and spoil what i give