I'm not concerned with your soul,
or your essence, your truth.
**** it, it's nothing to me.
I'm molding you into a still life,
an exhibit, a portrait.
you will not age.
you will never die.
you never left or grew angry.

I'd like to see inside them all,
every passing stranger or fool,
but your shell is beautiful to me,
it's such a shame I cracked it,
and saw the slimy innards,
your grey little slug heart,
that was too slow in it's beating.

truth be told,
your truth is such a turn-off,
so I'll use your ambiguity,
to a paint a pretty picture of you,
where you will live forever,
and I never lose.

2-1-13