A Sad Mans Portrait
A horrible, yet painfully accurate portrait comes together
Painting layer after layer of his face, a man continues.
The mans monstrous face, his ugly body, and his hideous clothes
All coming together in a single mess, paint smeared to perfection
Perfection is not the word to describe him, far from it truthfully
The only thing he has is his paint set, his life line and his only love
If he had nothing else, or maybe anything else, he supposed he’d die
His eyes, he mused, was the only thing he liked about himself
They were normal, his dark brown eyes were simply normal
The small light of humanity complimenting their dark hues.
As he continued to paint, he began on his body
He had very little appeal, his looks can only be seen as ugly
His body came together, a Picasso style body was made
Though, he would smudge the name of Picasso if he were to say he was.
His clothes were added, he painted the figure before the clothes
His clothes were an odd sort, ratty and tattered over the years
If he had been rich, perhaps he wouldn’t worry about the holes in his coat
He continued to construct his outfit, chuckling bitterly at how ugly he was.
If there was a god, then his god was a spiteful being
Only a being capable of malice would create a man so hideous
Of course, he stopped believing in gods, they were a fallacy.
He had grown into a bitter man over the years, though it made sense,
His appearance grew more intensely disturbing as the clock ticked on.
The clock, to be more specific, time continued to be insignificant
Time had been cruel to him, time made him age like milk
A sour, curdled, warm, and putrid smelling glass of milk.
His brush strokes became slower and sloppier, but he continued
He was determined to finish this painting, no matter what
His body, his wretched body, was screaming for a break.
He continued silently, knowing that he’d be happy if he died
He wouldn’t allow himself to die before his painting was completed
He hadn’t slept, eaten, or drank anything for the last few days
He finished the painting, which turned out hideous and accurate
He slumped over in his chair, his eyes closed, and his heart stopped.
His painting, as well as the few possessions of his, was at auction
The painting caught the eye of many bidders, who looked at its glory
The intricate detail, the texture of its contents, and the depth of it
The colors that popped, the colors that differed, all blended harmoniously
In the end, the highest bidder was a art museum, quite famous indeed
Many people came from all over, all to admire the odd painting
The teacher brought a class to the museum, art students to study it
The painting was analyzed, no detail was unchecked, ideas shared
Brainstorming, the students continued to discuss, a quiet voice spoke
“He hated himself,” the young, beautiful, quiet man said, wistfully
The students looked at him, all falling silent as the male stared on
His eyes locked with the painting, and suddenly, they were the same
His monstrous face, his ugly body, and his hideous clothes
They were the same, the artist and him were the same
And he laughed a joyful laugh, perhaps half crazed.
He had an angelic face, a beautiful body, and fine clothes
And he had longed for the life before, he wished he was different
Then again, you can’t change your fate, and his fate led him here
Right where he wanted to be, right where he despised to be
