A blank paper, some paint,
and a whole bottle of rum to start with.
Long night of drunken musings,
color blotted fingers and messy tables.
Weird imaginations to fathom,
all colored with shades untouched.
Deep rooted desires and flaming thoughts,
blood shot eyes and dark circles.
Do not imagine me as the white fairy,
with pretty eyes and pink lips.
Nor do I possess smooth skin and
Rapunzel hair for that matter.
I do not wait for my prince charming,
for I belong to the clan of loners,
who the “normal” stay away from.
I know I am strange but I don’t care.
I do not prefer to live in the white clouds,
made of white lies which
with a gentle breeze, will glide away.
I do not prefer in the stale smile,
that starts as a curve under the nose,
and then becomes a jambiya,
piercing right through the heart.
I also do not prefer to
loiter around fancy parties where
only the shadows take part.
If you want to find me,
look for me in the closed room,
where I dance with art,
sing with the paint brushes,
and live as a real painting.
I prefer to be myself and lonely,
alone to be forever,
but never to be separated
from my own existence.
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