A priceless piece of art in her precious gallery.
Punctured with a nail, she hangs for all to see.
Her creator, unknown.
A man masked in grey-
Took his artwork by the hand,
And traded her for pay.
Time spent perfecting; now long gone.
The Act or Art itself had gone all wrong.
The linework snakes through unknown feelings.
Canvas skin, your paint is peeling.
And here you sit, sealing
Your patches with rancid untruths.
These abused blue hues
He uses so aloof.
As your are hanging, with no tongue left for maiming,
He finds a new soul he believes needs framing.
You and she shall be the same-
Abuse and misuse are
Engrained in the brains
Of the women he has tried to tame…
But he is no artist.
