A single rectangle, so still
With a massive crimson heart
Beating at a pace before death

Living there for all eternity
A poor painted man
A beaten down lonely person
His beard of pin pointed hairs
His mouth a fallen crescent
His eyes of drooped vision

Yes those eyes
So depressed
Wet melted look
Glazed over
Always following
With the same chilled stone stare

You can run
But he will never move
Just stare with that look
Those deep black hole eyes

As he stares at you
Feelings get deeper
A knife through the soul
Can you feel life pumping through this art?
This portrait?
This life?

Hands shaking; turn and face him
Stale heat surrounds the body from his frightening stare

Could it be from the absent painter?
Someone who put more of his heart’s passion in this piece
A thick brush dipped in pure liquid life
A painful stroke for each line of color
Until he painted himself to the canvas
Becoming his own work of art

Get closer
Stare deep into the thick bodied paint
This art lives
It breathes