i painted a man
with distorted features
fringed by incessant streaks
and eyes dripping of despair.
there was a soiled mirror
intended for introspection
and a washbasin for cogitation
beneath a clamped wristwatch.
the man was static, melancholy,
clutching his head
in a defeated manner;
a classical pose, one might say.
and for this purpose, i will divulge
that the man is me.
you see, there was simply
no one left to paint
since everybody else has died.
with distorted features
fringed by incessant streaks
and eyes dripping of despair.
there was a soiled mirror
intended for introspection
and a washbasin for cogitation
beneath a clamped wristwatch.
the man was static, melancholy,
clutching his head
in a defeated manner;
a classical pose, one might say.
and for this purpose, i will divulge
that the man is me.
you see, there was simply
no one left to paint
since everybody else has died.



Writerzhand
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