Art

She consider herself a beautiful art,

Stunning and exquisite, she is.

Lovely in every fragment part,

Just a sight of her is bliss.

She's a sketch in every wrinkled sheet,

The beginning of any outline draft.

Made with a special pencil, so sweet,

The outcome is an aesthetic craft.

She's a candid shot of elegance,

What a fetching visage she got!

From a lensman who avoids such glance,

Just to capture a perfect shot.

She exist in every canvass of painting,

Brushed with iridescent and colorful paints.

Even in an illustration, she is shining,

And conquers other Junoesque painted saints.

She is an abstract,

An art of chaotic mess.

Gives nothing but distract,

To an artist who seeks finesse.

She's the beau ideal of a classic art,

Nonpareil and never gets old.

Had a beauty that melts every heart,

Yet nobody noticed her eyes were cold.

She was drawn through the hands of a cubist,

Every portion so perplexing and twisted.

She is beauty, but she's also the beast,

With a body and a heart so badly tainted.

People only perceive her pretty figure,

And no one saw the disease within her soul.

Her mind's a dark mist and very obscure,

So she wreck herself and started a brawl.

Lips of cold steel,

Kissed her branded skin.

Her psyche felt like a crazy wheel,

As the blades committed an awful sin.

She carved the words she adore,

And carved the words she detest.

Carved until her body felt sore,

And all she want to do is rest.

The presence of crimson blood,

Astounded and overwhelmed her.

Crying to herself seems odd,

But her eyes glimmered through the blur.

Call her crazy or twisted,

She'll only appear careless.

She just wanted to be dead,

To be devoid of this mess.

Well, perhaps she cared more,

And puts on her maquillage.

Careful of everything she wore,

But inside she created a sabotage.

She smiles but shows no teeth,

And shares faux stories she created.

Earphones on and hears no beat,

Every move was calculated.

Concrete as a rock,

Cold as a stone.

Calm, subdued, but stuck

Hearing the cracks of her bone.

Now, she's a ravishing sculpture,

Perfectly carved by her own.

The only sight she can endure,

Is the art she personally drawn.

She consider herself a beautiful art,

Stunning and exquisite, she is.

But inside she is falling apart,

And slowly collapsing into a dark abyss.