Between the
White and black.
I'm a shady
Recline.
I'm not a
Quantifiable piece
Of meat bag.
I'm love. I'm pain.
I'm melancholia.
A rainbow.
A celebration,
Also, a pitch memory
Of darkness.
I'm dark strokes
On the canvas.
Also the mess in
The palette.
More often,
The discarded scribble
On the paper, than
The well-aligned
Parts of my verses.
I'm a story that
Made love under
The fan and
Hung itself to death
Later that night.
I'm this, I'm that.
Beneath, under,
After, before.
I'm a boundless
Beyond.
And sir, or madam.
If you think.
You've understood me,
Then, congratulations.
You've just become
An artist.
Of darkness.
I'm dark strokes
On the canvas.
Also the mess in
The palette.
More often,
The discarded scribble
On the paper, than
The well-aligned
Parts of my verses.
I'm a story that
Made love under
The fan and
Hung itself to death
Later that night.
I'm this, I'm that.
Beneath, under,
After, before.
I'm a boundless
Beyond.
And sir, or madam.
If you think.
You've understood me,
Then, congratulations.
You've just become
An artist.
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