A scribbled canvas,
Full of strokes of brush,
Somewhere it is red,
Somewhere it is blank,
Somewhere colour is fade.
Grey smoke is coiling up
Under the light.
The painter is drunk
Maybe it’s rum; few pints.
Sleepless nights,
Red eyes and tired heart,
Weed between two lips,
Euphoria is his only love.
Slowly red gets finished.
Still, her lips are left.
His wrist is slashed,
Her lips are completed.
Dizziness is capturing
His head; eyes are heavy.
With a smile, he is looking
At his Galatea’s Beauty,
“Now Pygmalion can sleep.”
Another deep cut on the wrist.
Pygmalion & Galatea
Moonstruck 