Crimson Art
I slished and slashed, till the whole studio was crimson,
I beamed an eerie smile, so it can have the last reason.
I skipped around, all over the room,
Splished here, splashed there, the sound of the fumes.
I laughed and roared till the entire place echoed,
I was so happy that my sorrow has finally borrowed.
I heard no other noise beside my art,
No chirps, no barks, not even a beat of heart.
I could see the bad, vile looking bland,
All I need was just my lame pair of hands.
The idea was easy and not much time that spent,
But what was vital was the meaning and content.
The process was actually hard and grotesque,
As I had to do it very quickly, that is after dusk,
But finally all my pain, suffer and grief,
Has now put into this art, of enormous relief.
My mind was blank, the reception wasn't reality,
to complete this masterpiece I have to lose my precious sanity.
To rise above all and detached my sadness,
I have now became, what they called Madness.
To whom I show my depression and pain,
of course, to the human because its just a canvas, no profanity, no vain.
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