"I give you a blank canvas,
I give you a clean palette,
I give you an innocent brush,
I give you bright paints—
So paint me a masterpiece."
Take your medium
And heed what I have taught you, child.
Taint your paintbrush,
And streak the sky grey—
Lined with frothy strokes of smoky black.
Dab the ground brown,
Flecks of crimson litters the mundane.
Line the horizon with tired, wispy limbs of white,
Oozing red from mortal wounds.
Oozing yellow from mortal infection.
You think— "maybe a little green, or some orange, here?"
But your tainted paintbrush-
It only comprehends these dark colors,
And it claims its allegiance by drawing back with a sour hiss.
"I gave you a blank canvas,
Now painted so beastly.
I gave you a clean palette,
Now violated with tones of angst.
I gave you an innocent paintbrush,
Now reeking and weeping deep crimson.
I gave you bright paints,
Now soiled in the filth of your mind.
I demanded a masterpiece—
Now what is this that you have painted me?"
"A masterpiece," You answer oh-so proudly,
a Glasgow smile pulling at the flesh of your ruby lips.
"A battlefield of paper dolls…"
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