blue period

he was one of those modest artist the kind
that you can't convise he's done right
to him its always something wrong
a brush stroke a pen stroke
a shade to dark
but we all fall in love with the art
or him

he was like his art a perfect looking piece
something you thought you couldn't attain
something i fooled my self to believe
that i was in the presence of a god
a michaelangelo of modern arcrilics
and i was...
the blank canvas
and you choose your time with me
to go into that melodramatic blue period
the one where everything looses its hue
turns cold and shows a broken soul
kinda like you
turned me into
that depressed blue man
sitting on the side with no one
to catch me when i cried
or died
inside