A Living Art

Color me with shades of gold

It will fade and surely show

Cracks and holes that you hid

Imperfections that will always live

So color me with your brush

Be the artist that you must

But this canvas has been torn

A living art of depression’s hold

 

Color me with shades of silver

Make me feel the ever-shiver

Plaster holes with one fine swoop

Once it dries it will surely give under

So color me with your paint

I’ll be the art that doesn’t remain

Watch this statue finally break

A living art of depression’s saint

This poem is about: 
Me

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