Starving Artist

In this world

Of man-made selection

I’m being left for last pick.

You must be a fortune

To sip champagne at the gallery

While my bed is a curb

With a star gaze view.

You want your finery,

Your reputation,

Your room with ambiance

But it costs my soul.

You drink from my cup

But refuse me

even the scraps of your table.

I can’t trust those human like me

To help a fellow man

When they’re much to busy

Devoting their 1,000+ “likes”

To a cat video.

You’ll drain me

Till I’m bleached bone.

My frame not a glimpse of my soul,

More a glimpse of your pocket

But alas your supplier I’ll remain

For the brush and oil

Are my flesh and blood,

My only true romance.

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