Work Text:
Splattered Paint
paint splattered on his pants and shirts
walking the streets, looking at the skirts
that pass him by an turn their head
to look at him, as if he were dead
no one wants to set him free
can't they see his creativity
they all seem to leave him be
to just wonder round, but he
is trying hard just to write
of all the things that just might
be happening to him some day soon
cause now he's as crazy as a loon
infection dances in his head
as he lays there in his bed
wishing that it could stop
pain all over, bottom to top
when they see that splattered paint
they all realize he aint' no saint
he's just a man who likes to draw
who now no longer can stand tall
So at his computer he will sit and write
from early morn to late at night
and if he's lucky than he just might
take a bath and eat something lite
he's lost alone in a dark place
he's trying hard to save face
unable to keep up the pace
wondering, is that a disgrace...
splatter paint from days gone by
days when he would want to try
to create something new
when he'd paint, or maybe write for you
splatter paint on his pants and shirt
his life's now worth less than dirt
and he seems to wonder why
yet he knows, it is his time to die
©1999 Jim Nasium
* La Galeria de GymArt *
http://www.voicenet.com/~gymart