Masterpiece

The artist has finished his final masterpiece
He lets the crimson paint dry on the pale finish
It’s a piece he’s been working on for a while
Jagged lines scarred upon his crippling canvas
His emotions poured into every stroke of the brush
Dripping the paint like raindrops on a cloudy day
Staining the floor he stands on and his clothes
Walking away he takes a final look at his art
With a half ass smile he scoffs at his work
Certainly not his best but it shall do for now
It has completed the task he had set for it to do
To release the inner pain and escape the sadness
He throws the blade upon the floor and walks out
His mind is elsewhere, he forgot he was even cutting
The canvas still warm, throbbing in pain from his work
Alone and numb, I guess this is what he wanted
After all the hurt and destruction there is nothing left
But the scars, a work of art from a lost artist