A vacant angel paints
a silhouetted masterpiece
with drunken passion on
a black imagined canvas,
creating psychedelic
metaphors of smoke and
sculptured fashion in
aesthetic harmony
with her life in
the surreal.She smears
experimental messes
with bitter strokes
of broken wings,
that scream through
angry little portraits
of her insecurity.
Another dismal tapestry
of shattered dreams
and sunken hope
that dulls her
dank existence
and lessens the
absurdness of
her own reality.
When she deems the
picture finished
she esteems herself
less futile than she is
and calls it art.
