Done in the Dark

It was a face on an easel
Covered in oil,
Staring at the people,
A picture of evil.
It had a greasy smirk
And was the bane
Of the owner’s
Vain existence
Staying ever persistent
In it’s effort
To return the resistance.
The pressure, perhaps,
Grew to massive;
The carotid collapsed,
The facade paled,
And Unveiled
What the true brush strokes
Had Painted.


Kurtis Lunz