Art within art..A love mosaic of luxury I’ve become..

A sliced piece of Picasso.. 

Ripped from its original canvas .. And placed here.. On your canvas.. On display for all to see..

From the past I belong from the past I will return..

But you.. You’re something different..

You follow me from place to place.. Canvas to canvas..

Unlikely it’s coincidence.. More likely you have a vendetta..

While everyone sees me as the abstract idealism I present..

You bleed through their emotions and show them the worst of me..

A part of me that no longer exist.. No longer existed.. But you want to carry forth the past as though it did not die in its error..

Follow me on the crisp summer night.. The wind is still.. The noise is quiet..

And you’re here.. Following me.. Awaiting any possible chink in my bulwark..

Any fucking vulnerability..

You pounce– I suffer–You celebrate

And the cycle continues..

Living art I am.. Because as the canvas changes.. So does the art from which its inspiration derives..