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I Like to Call It an Art

A sharp brush
A careful hand
A blank canvass
An array of colours

The brush dips in
Soaks in the paint
Is carefully pressed to the page
Marks it forevermore

Paint cannot be washed
Will never be removed
Permanent beauty
Permanently applied

But careful, see
One mistake
One fatal flaw
Forever damaged

Paint bleeds to paint
Staining as it flows
Temporary release
Ruined forevermore

The brush cuts deep
Leaves its mark
The canvass is frail
And the brush is sharp

And in the end
Only two options remain
There will be a beautiful picture
Or a scarred being

The blade is unforgiving
The pain is real
The scars are not beautiful
The blood makes you feel



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