The Golden Proportion & Hence Forward Present..
The Portrait
My spastic style
proves I'm the bastard child
of madness, piled
on my ancestor's backs.
It's foul:
how, masked in clouds,
my history's contorted
and casts in the bowls
of a hidious portrait
that lasts, still, now..
..A hidious portrait that lasts, still, now.
The Painters: a rotten cast
prove I'm the bastard son
of a forgotten past;
locked and masked
by clever brush strokes
which blot the trash
of thier plots to smash my blod's will,
but succeed, my blood will
and I will show them what a man is
when I spill my drink on the painting
and reveal the canvas..
..When I spill my drink on the paintingand reveal the canvas.
May god bless the day
I was born a bastard son
without a yesterday.
My mind was streatched in ways
so I'd admired The Painter's artwork.
I respected the hard work
until I relized
it was the cause of my heart's hurt.
They took from me - From us.
But fuck thier art.
I'll show them what a stand is
when I spit my drink on the painting
and reveal the canvas.
Trust me. I will reveal the canvas.
-W1