The Artist With The Lock On His Heart

Men never seem to come and stay; they always desire your affection and then break away before they become too close. This is about one such man who did just that.

a grey Transformers graphic t-shirt,

and washed out blue jeans

 

that's what you were wearing

that 28th day of August.

 

it's silly how my mind remembers such small details like that,

but maybe it was just meant to be from the very beginning.

 

(fast forward one month)

 

toes clicking down the sidewalk,

words shooting back and forth between our mouths

 

the red and yellow leaves clogged the filty Minneapoli streets

that beautiful fall day.

 

it was the first day we formed a connection,

and that was just the tip of the iceberg before i dived underwater.

 

we talked, we laughed, we joked

until months flew by

and then i realized we had something more.

 

suddenly it hit me like a needle to the thread,

but it was too late because you desired someone else.

 

i was but a withered flower on your doorstep,

or a piece of chalk sitting on the blackboard.

 

until that late spring night

when you grabbed by hand,

and clasped on tight.

 

i became someone special.

 

your piece of artwork

ready to recieve stroke by stroke,

color by color,

everything you would make me to be.

 

but soon enough

you pushed the canvas aside,

and i became yet another painting on the white-washed walls.

 

there was i among the rest,

the countless others you had given your relentless care and affection to

 

but we were all deceived.

 

we were just blank pages

waiting to be scribbled on by the artist with a lock on his heart.