Caged in feral thought's blind chasms
Stark reality's border descends
Awash with leaden fool's gold whims
Covering my naked form with soulless perspective
Tactile delusions run in winds of forced creativity
Contrived art spitting in the eyes of their painters
Given still life without truth they rebel
Brush stroke's hatred leaching from gallows' canvas
Cracked stains of futile blood
Adding validity to the oil murdered scene
Don't paint me without truth
Or you'll paint only my yesterday shadows
©David Nickle Read 2014
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