The Artist

You twist my words
into something unrecognizable
and throw them back at me-
A corrupt boomerang.

Your tongue
a liquid silver,
slowly oozing
into the crevices
of my fragmented mind,
welding together,
to hold me your captive.

What do you want?

You put on the mask,
you dance your dance,
around and around,
sweeping people off their feet
in your deceitful masquerade.

You floor people
with your graceful technique,
you lure people
into your grasp.
Your smile
like a vice grip,
your eyes
a net.
Constantly convincing the audience
you're something
you're not.

You write words upon paper:
deceitful,
selfish,
 

Lies.
 

Then, when people find the story
behind them

you paint your escape
with my spilled blood

that you collected after
you threw me under the bus.

You sculpt your stories
0ut of manipulated memories,
stolen from others,
and copious lies
uttered from painted lips.

You're truly an artist

you think of yourself as
one of all forms.

Perhaps someday
someone else will

finally

see through

Your mask.