Eyes, lips, cheeks, painted.
I scrub it all off
The bare canvas is beautiful enough, you say
I love you, not as a carefully crafted doll
But as a woman of origins spontaneous
You embody all temperamental weather
The rays of the sun are not enough for you
There is dramatic beauty to behold
in the lightning that strikes in the fury of thunder
I cut you, you bleed, dripping, oozing
from the torn skin as flesh has ripped apart
And in the pool that has formed
is your reflection of death
And then I know your countenance was real
This life, ours, together, no dream
One of the first poems I wrote. Surprisingly creepy, I didn’t even know it would turn out that way when I wrote it.