A solitary artist with sore bandages on my fingers, blinded by the dust in this sand storm but I still hit the right notes. ��

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  • aesthete_03 85w

    Crooked Smile ��
    It is not ours
    it is mine.
    You gaze at it for hours
    like it is a gold mine.

    (A Smile Braces Could Never Straighten)

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    oh me, oh my!
    the spring sunlight glanced on the window of your eye
    my lense looked at you
    like there was something worth looking at
    the type of look that Romeo would give to Juliet
    you look like a beautiful, picturesque sunset over the ocean
    and I think you are picture-perfect
    tell me, how do I smile like you?

    there is something about your smile
    it makes someone's heart take a pause
    it has a crippled old man standing on ten toes
    your smile spreads like a red tint on ripening tomatoes

    oh yes! indeed, summer is in the air
    and my camera gives you reasons to stare
    if I need you to share
    a smile with my camera, would you dare?
    smiling faces are everywhere
    but a crooked smile is very rare
    how do you turn a crooked smile into something fair
    how do I smile like you?


  • aesthete_03 87w

    A Bleeding Society P3

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    I was taking a walk the other night
    And I think I saw a woman, a lost woman
    Wrapped in a frigid chiffon dress
    Surrounded by the alley dumped mess
    I decided to walk over and land a helping hand...

    Next second I knew, I was running from a dark man dressed in a 'white chiffon' dress screening: "you have lost your life!"
    1-2-3 steps like an amateur on the dance floor
    4-5-6 bullets to the head, life was no more
    7-8-9 minutes later, the last breathe became sore

    It felt like my world came to a stand but time was still moving forward
    The feeling of an apocalypse happening but nothing was awkward
    Couldn't feel pain, couldn't feel the midnight drizzle
    Somebody had to call 911, a soul had left its vessel

  • aesthete_03 87w

    A Bleeding Society P2

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    Welcome to the modern day society
    This is a place for both you and me
    This is a place where I will probably...
    Die walking back home from the candy store
    I'll probably die just a few inches away from your mother's door 

    I'll probably die because of these cops in blue badges
    I'll probably die because of my blaq inevitable patches
    I'll probably die because "I can't breathe", strangled by pages

    I'll probably die running from a lady in a silk dress, on a mission to create a crime scene
    I'll probably die because that is what you do when you are seventeen

  • aesthete_03 87w

    A Bleeding Society P1

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    But why,
    why do I have to suffer?
    The pain in my heart carries burdens of struggle.

    Everything is falling.
    The world is chasing,
    new worldly possessions.

    My flash is burning,
    my soul is breaking.
    Eternal pain or sufficient poison,
    which one would you lessen?

    Tell me,
    why do I have to bleed?
    Every stone thrown at you rests at my feet.
    No roses on the sidewalk,
    it is just blood on the concrete.

  • aesthete_03 96w

    Tik tok, Tik tok
    Sounds his antique brown clock
    It whispers: It is getting late
    Its twelve on the dot

    His time is up . . .
    The silence becomes too silent
    Everything that was vibrant
    Suddenly comes to a stand


  • aesthete_03 96w

    •Shade Of Gray•

    The whole world is evolving around my fingers
    The madness and chaos is smashing my bones to flinders
    This whole world is crawling it's way to my pencil point
    Crying it's way to my finger joint
    I am afraid it will impregnate my canvas with liquid
    Too bad I cannot turn a dark world into something vivid
    My gray graphite, is not so bright
    yet I declare: "let there be a light"
    Hoping it gives light to your eyes
    Warmth to your heart of ice
    I hope these shades of gray lighten up what was not seen
    And color your long paled skin
    For your darkness cannot settle down on this canvas

  • aesthete_03 97w

    my little paint brush is on a canvas
    red-yellow, appeares to be the new color of my fingers
    you have one pen and a million papers
    why do you have ink smeared all on your fingers

    your little black book is thicker than the old testament
    it's old and dusty, nothing close to vivid
    behind my canvas is an old fellow named sir Raymond
    he's old and rusty, a walking replica of timid

    your paper, my canvas
    your pen is my paint brush
    your words paint a thousand pictures
    but my picture is worth a thousand words

    You are a solitary writer, with a heart that is faint
    I am afraid, a perfect world for you I cannot paint
    but a fatal attraction is common
    and what we have in common is pain

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    Your paper, My canvas