This ability of observing all this ugliness
And regurgitating it as plastic descriptions
Sometimes comforts the agonising paranoia
Of visualising one such shameful tragedy
Build these artifacts sweating from grief
As beautiful portraits drew with my blood
Like paintings depicting despicable nature
It entails the contradiction that feeds me
The evil nature of a sad only-peace of mine
Had I chance to choose, I'd pierce my eyes
Once, how good is it, wearing this crown?
Queen of a vomited self-disgrace honesty
When decomposing, bounded to rot slowly
Place all the portraits on a dark dusty shelf
To stare like a little puppy at its little kid
Begging fondling to my gloomy treasures
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