You say you're an
Artist who fancies
To paint my penury.
Put on a screen to
Capture my dilapidated
Luxury.
I assure you.
It won't be colorful.
It won't be clear.
All you'll have is my
Hazy face shredded
By my helplessness.
Dust stricken hair
And sun burnt skin.
Clench of my eyes
And doused hope in
My laughter.
The unorganized,
Tainted teeth and
Beetel juice that oozes
From sides of my lips.
They demand
Way too much.
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
Capture my hunger?
These creases
Running on my hand
Restlessly..
Do you know how much
Blood they want?
Butterflies in
The stomach are
Overrated sir.
For some hunger is
Not that colourful.
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