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Promethean Misery
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Portrait of My Need
The painting on the wall stands alone among busy textures
It's shades haunting, each brushstroke hypnotising my soul
My focus forced upon this gruelling beauty
The portrait of my need
I want to be her
She walks alone through dreary smudged streets
Blackened buildings towering over her steps
Acid rain pelting at her grey skin
Fog and night sky blinding her
And yet she walks
She doesn't see the streets she walks
Isn't afraid of its looming walls
She doesn't feel the rain,
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Or the blisters on her feet as she walks
Her black hair dull and matted
Her clothes but old charcoaled rags covering her morbid body
Her eyes hollows in her face
Her soul is dead
She doesn't shiver from the cold
She has no worries, no thoughts, no tears
She just keeps walking
I wish I could be her
(end)
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