She painted over me with pigments of her
past.
Never
letting my natural colors show.
Trying to
created, she destroyed.
Turning a
masterpiece into a piece with no master.
Before
the paint was even dry
She was
eyeing another canvas.
The once
soft strokes of her brush
Turned to
flogs from cat-o-nine-tails.
Now I sit
on a back shelf
Forgotten
in the dust…
©
Sept 7, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic
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