You say you're an artist who
Fancies to paint my penury.
Would like to put on a screen to
Capture my dilapidated luxury.
But I assure you, the portrait
Won't be clear or colorful.
All you'll have is my hazy face
Shredded by my helplessness.
Dust-stricken hair and sunburnt skin.
Clench of my look and the doused
Hope in my laughter.
The misaligned, tainted teeth and
Beetel juice that oozes from
The sides of my lips.
The hesitant eyelids flapping from
My sunken eyes-- they demand
Too much, don't they?
Might fall heavy on your paintbrush.
You may gauge skin tone of my
Belly, it still looks human.
But do you have enough in your
Palette to portray my hunger?
The weight of my empty pockets,
That droop my shoulders and
These creases that run restlessly
On my hand, do you how much
Blood they want?
Butterflies in the stomach are
Overrated sire. For some hunger is
Not that colorful.