Art

They say some people are artists while others are art. you called me art a piece where the viewers sees different things Let me describe it to you then incase you cannot see clearly My background is black red splattered paint covers the figure white carvings almost blade-like A tornado of thoughts swirl over her. A hauntingly beautiful scene Broken mirrors caring the tarred reflection they spiral into the eye It moves into a graveyard The girl floats, almost, acceptedly Eyes closed her mascara runs blood stains to lipstick smudges Elevated arms, loosened feet she accepts and enjoys this chaotic bliss they say being loved by an artists means you'll never die. your memory lives on in the art but when the artist dies who will tell her story ??