a perfect canvas can get away with anything,
even destruction.
nothing done to it will destroy it, only make it shine.
add this, and add that.
pile on all the things that made everybody else undesirable.
instead of revolting, you become art.
was it a transformation of the hands or one of the eyes?
it’s like you had become adorned with colour and shine
instead of a veil to hide your reality.
the blandness beneath,
or the stark truth behind you.

mayhap it was a transformation of the heart.
it seems as though one may have bartered their life
just to be worthy of a glimpse
for five more minutes.
perhaps not merely a glimpse,
more, a lifetime.
what is it about