Canvas Of Flesh

Don’t let your tears interfere with my work of art. Crying will only distort the beauty I have brought fourth, and the meaning of my work will fall apart. Your pain will cease after the puss has drained, it takes time for these things to heel, and again, love, you will come to feel for the overall composition we gained. Your arms protrude from your back, sewn up, and cauterized, your skin now little black, but once I present you to the fans, the public will revel though out the lands, ending my reputation so stained.

You will be remembered forever my dear, so let drop your anger, and all total fear. They will marvel the wonder of you my creation, bringing fourth the world to a mighty sensation. Oh how they will wonder of the things you are. They will see your eyes and teeth in a jar, chest removed, and ironed smooth. And this will bring fourth my adulation.

So hold on my dear, just a little more work, maybe a year. Then I present you for all to be shocked, with your lips sewn and locked, and I will have my inner cheer. Parade you in a bottle of feces, and around you rats, or some other species, gnawing your inner flesh. Thus will be for all to see, a one and only living canvas.