My Painting

My painting holds the splats and scratches in a golden frame,
Hung on walls that no one sees, in lack of love or fame.
But all the loneliness and worry becomes overcame,
Because I know that no one knows that I am not the same.
Judge me by my scratches, splats, or judge me by my name,
Judge me with your rifles as you begin to take aim.
And as the bullets crack the glass and shred and tear and maim,
My painting’s message still stands strong to share what I proclaim.
My beauty is all hidden by a wall of dancing flame,
The world tells me to play along, but my life is no game.
To those who shoot their bullets, I do not give you the blame.
My goal along my twisting life is to, my self, to tame.



About pasameerday

I haven't got a lot of time to keep you interested, so I'll be quick. I'm a writer from the UK, primarily of fantasy and sci-fi short stories, and occasionally of strange, nonsensical poetry. I like cats, the Sims, and pizza, and I go to sleep to the sound of a keyboard. I've been writing for my entire life; to be honest, I don't think I could ever bring myself to stop. I have a feeling I'm losing you, so I'll bring this to an end before you slowly start to back up, hoping I'll stop talking long enough for you to make a quick getaway. Wait... Where are you going? Hey! Wait! ... Stop!!
This entry was posted in Poetry, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Give me your Thoughts!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s