Such a pretty picture!
Why wouldn’t you want it framed?
She painted over my face, where she added herself all over.
I can’t help but wonder, as time does get older, why do you brush me over?
Can’t you paint an original painting?
Why is her glare so berating?
Pretty photo on the wall, why would she want it to fall?
She painted the picture of betrayal.
But why can’t you see mine was the original?
No one knows my version.
Because no one knows it was stolen.
Can’t you stop spreading lies?
How do you sleep at night knowing?
Something is coming for you, but you still don’t notice enough to care.
You even said it to my face, “Maybe I did, but nothing is after me yet!”
Your laugh is unbearable, your glare is terrorizing, your smirk is manipulating and deceiving, yet compromising.
Each rumor you spread, I hope it turns into the reason why you scream off your head.
Hoax after hoax, how can I rest when all you promote is the wrong truth, the real lie?
You make yourself the victim, but who else but me will ever realize?
You stole my original painting, so I hope that they can finally know.
This poem isn’t about paintings, so my truth has been told.
