Poem – “The Art of Grieving” – Romance – 12/5/2019

I hold one wicked smile,
Within one shattered palm,
As I have tamed it,
Made it a name,
In my house of sculptures.
Beauty and conscious mind,
Suffering from my delusions,
Becomes paranoia,
And complete fear,
Because, there is a state of agony
To behold, before me.
A place for me,
Next to Satan, in my house of martyrs.

Beauty and beauty,
Becomes foiled at my touch,
Turns to dust, upon my command,
Turns to dust at the flick
Of one misused brush.
I am an artist,
Of Hellish creation,
Beauty is my name,
A little face with many stains,
As God could grant me wisdom,
Were He to not see my face en-grained.

I draw blood-streaks
Upon my eyes,
And upon my arms,
I draw cuts in diagonal shape,
In infamous patterns
Alike my mind,
With all the torment I could allow to take form.

Where is my Heaven?
Where did it leave me?

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