paintings and sculptures, a beautiful face –yet i could leave these halls without a trace
there is the knight and his delicate mace
he is so lucky to have found his place
there is a staircase; from there i’ll erase
each piece of myself – i can’t then retrace
my steps to reveal where is this headspace
with every moment i am a disgrace
to me; dear artists, i wish to encase
every shred of hope that’s left in this race
can you paint for me a beautiful face
and hide me away – let’s call it “misplace”
pretend I’m gone and we’ll see what takes place
I know no one who’ll go down this staircase
even then, why would they share their embrace
with a shaking tired screaming nutcase
like me? but maybe they’d try to efface
daggers and knives of words, hide them someplace
just out of sight. could they try to unlace
the strings that keep me tied to this staircase
just out of reach from that beautiful face
could they just hold me inside their embrace
and shield me from the world i have no place in? horrible that this is commonplace,
we are lost in paintings, lost in the chase
of the hustle, the bustle, yes, the race:
feels like i’m drowning, i’ll try to surface
between acrylics, i’ll be in their place
if someone could reach in, help me save face
once again take me in their warm embrace
but no one exists. not even a trace
will be left in this gallery in place
of me, of my life, gone in a backspace
don’t want to be a forgettable face.