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Masterpiece
Author's Note: It... Doesn't flow well. But oh well. Make what you will of it.
It was too bad he knew me. I knew that. I wasn't ready for display… yet. I wasn't ready yet. I didn't say to come and get me. But I held on, even when he told me this was wrong. I'm wondering if this is wrong.
I'm no masterpiece, when innocence is beautiful and painted green. Is it strange to think that he created me all from one idea? That he painted me just from one idea…? Painted black where my naked heart is; I finally know what wrong is.
Here on the pedestal out in the world, I realize he bled for nothing. I was carved from a stone with his hands still shaking. I'm on display now, and like a failed work on art, I am taken down, only for the eyes of the broken soul.
"You can't erase these." I said to him, touching his face with my cool hand, my scar ridden arms showing, a painful reminder. I winced inwardly at the pained look in his eyes and the lines etched into his features. "You can't save me. And you know you can't display me once more."
"But you'll go to waste. You are my beauty." His voice cracked slightly from the sorrow. I shook my head and smiled.
"That's exactly it. I'm your beauty. I am no one else's but yours." I withdrew my hand, standing back to observe him as he had done me. "You know what dismay means. I can't even try to remember what I knew, before I became your model to claim nothing."
"But you are my masterpiece." He said, touching my face lovingly, stroking my arms and my legs, covered in scars as well.
"I am no masterpiece." I held his face in my hands, holding still as he took a blade to my skin again, closing my eyes as it cut through his marble that was my skin. Was it really so strange that he made all of me?
Soon I grew tired and stopped working, closing my eyes forever. He 'died' beside me, chisel still in hand, he finished me. It was too bad he knew me. Neither of us were ready and I am no masterpiece at all.
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