I erase the face paint that consumes my flesh.
an artist without recognition, my pallet, simple.
My face becomes that of a warrior, ready to hide from enemy attacks.
fragile fingers create an illusion that all prefer to see, yet in reality, I am a mere speck in humanity.
Ebony colors gently caress tender virgin skin and lips fall silent as prey.
I bathe in tar, waiting to be plucked from the bosom of hate mongers and
I am without crimson kiss and emerald eyes as heavens bountiful gates have yet to rain upon my form.
the easel breaks, and I am left with muted tints.
Watercolor tears cascade.
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