I will never find you unbeautiful,
over all time and between all distance.
Ah, but do you want to know my secret?
I draw with cold and unbeautiful silver,
& it comes out red.
Oh? You want to hear a story?
I wanted to write exactly how I felt,
But I left the page,
b l a n k.
And I couldn’t have described,
It any better,
I found this in the lost pages of my rotted notebook,
thought it might find a place to belong here now.
Art is subject to inspection (unscheduled)
Started out suspects whose inventions we let alope
Messages sent out of love that we let go
Readers unknown still we feel like we met though
Raw and unbeautiful
Scars we don't let show
Scarfs with no winds blown
Broken Hope's forgotten dreams
Her father's daughter mother's mean
Seldom on purpose unpurposely
Stolen she knows not the poet is me
Told how awful I am;
Though, it's easy to see
it's awful are we
Yeah, how awful are we?
Lips of Ash,
Charred and cracked,
Carry my words to a god who's never cared.
Let her find them unbeautiful,
Not worship, nor prayer.
— The End —