Her Masterpiece

I knew I was a failed painter

First upon taking LSD

As I noticed she was better than I

No matter how wretched in her craft

I remember seeing the fury

Portraits of blood toned eyes traced in black, glaring

The canvas mocking me while oozing bright matter

From the visceral bonds of her bitter hand

Here I behold what was once hidden

And though a natural painter,

She painted for no one

Her later work uninspired, undaunted

Then silver fractals lined the ceiling

The arms of faceless shadows reaching towards me

Marking their invisible territories

On the unsigned canvas, now fading 

I saw the errors of her details

In bleak maroon backgrounds

Overlapping outlines of poor dimensions

Best worthy to collect dust in galleries so worthless

Hail this vacant home of memorabilia

Though I still collected her art, building shrines

Art made in aimless pursuit

Only to gather warmth when the drug money was gone

She was a star lit prodigy

Once an object of desire

But as she grew weary, she would stay hungry

With no taste left in her gift to share

And so the art became a scam

A petty way to collect drug cash

Sucking dealers for oxycontin

Cocks stroked before brushes by my lover

I adored the Artist

The Artist who lived with me for free

All I asked was she paint

So she sketched me a pair of wolves

When she left me, for my dealer

The wolves were all I had left

And as I peaked, I could at last see

How those wolves were drawn in solace, to rid me

This was when I found a relic she’d made

A torn portrait of me

(Portraits were her specialty)

Forlorn in a mixed media of mania

Perhaps I was her masterpiece

I knew she had given up

Before throwing all but art away

Like one of her subjects

I saw she had burned the edges of the page

Leaving me to complete

Looking almost erased,

I knew I was the failed artist

As I outline the final layers

Here I stay a work in progress

Still to this day,

I let no woman paint me.