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my lifes last masterpiece.
It is impossible to paint a picture of nothing
Yet there exists no masterpiece of nonexistence.
A parody of the mind
And an irk in the back of a thought.
He offered me anything
I told him nothing
And gave him the paint
With back turned to me, he began to paint
All the dark velvet fabric of something.
In the futile attempt to give me what I wished for
I watched reflection of hurt in his eyes
But I just found a need to turn away
He could not paint me my view of nothing
And brush grasped in fist, I step forward
My inability known to even me
My attempts to be in vain
The rich fervid paint lay before
My expanse of canvas a sweet promise
That he offered me
To be covered in nothing
The hole in my universe
A math equation of impossibility
A black expanse
And one sullen word
Standing stark on the legs of one N and G.
In one final word.
My sick manic masterpiece my life my words I never said my creativity my lies my mistakes for when I went to far and the nights I didn’t go far enough
And I find now what I always knew
A subconscious thought you warned me
It is impossible to paint a picture a nonentity
Because the very expression of nothing cannot cease to exist.