An artist paints you with grace and skill yet no one notices you.
Is it your dull colors?
Do you you not stand out enough?
Are you not as beautiful as the other paintings?
The answer unknown to you as you are passed by day after day.
In the gallery the people go to the more extravagant paintings, passing you by yet again.
Even the beautiful gallery isn't perfect.
All it takes is a single little spark from a careless cigarette thrown to the ground to set the whole place ablaze.
The fire spreads and licks at the paintings and the walls, eating them up and turning them to ashes.
You now lay on the cold, hard ground tattered and burned as the last bit of beauty you once held was cruelly taken from you.
The people mourn the other paintings, they call them unforgettable and sad losses to the the world yet you have never heard your name.
No one noticed you were gone as you lay on the ground wishing the flames had finished you off, but why would they be so kind as to do so?
They laugh at the state they left you in, tattered and torn on the filthy ground where you lay now, stepped on without a second glance.
Not dead, not quite alive existing in a never ending hell.
YOU ARE READING
The Truth
PoetryThese aren't for pity or attention so don't give it to me. I write these because they are how I feel, no matter how bad they are. If you don't like it then don't read. ~Warning~ If you do not feel comfortable reading things that have to do with depr...
