Epilogue of a Dead Artist

 Is it my will that i should Lie?
 A form as stained as grey
 or a passion as pained as me?
For those who dont know,
spoken from the Wilde poetic fellow,
Life imitates Art

Is it my destiny to Love?
The bottom gives thy goosebumps of my flesh,
                  the mirror of mines
                seeks justice
For what she sees is Empty
and what is Empty sees and knows all

Is it my kingdom to forge Life's signature?
My right?
For thy will never fathom
the marking of the Spotted Vulture
that Tears.
That bleeds blue.
It knows that it wasn't my century to live

And for thy information,
a child such as i was, with just paper and paint,
didnot knowest what was to come of the future
and she curses the Dawn from when her teeth appears
To Blame is to Lie
Vice Versa will nver explicate farther than Thee
Thee will never
Thee is Multiverse,

Thee will never understand Me.