the price.

[brighteyedamy]

the perfect penmanship
of your idealistic dreams
running catching blurring
down the page
as though the mona lisa
was really crying
and her face was blotted out

the common time tempo
of your never-changing step
staggering tripping falling
out of place
a sweet romance piece
gone atonal in your mind
changing key every beat

the attempt to paint
His face in realism
melting running clumping
the brush is broken
the canvas rips
from the bottom up
tearing through His heart

you cant make it on your own.