By C.S. Scarrow

My body is a long grass field 
I want distractions from the plainness 
Maybe if I add a hill or two 
I can finally become a work of art 
Maybe a gray patch here and there 
With a little pond sprinkled around 
And a mountain pinched out of the ground 
With shades of white and green plastered on the top 
But if I have a green field 
I must have flowers in color 
With black and white butterflies bleeding on to my skin 
And eagles burned into my chest 
But they must be flying above someone 
A dead body of a naked man with a loose hanging eye 
Swallowed by the grass fields and flowers 
And yet his smell does not taint the picture 

Maybe If I color my mind in ideas 
I can cover the weight in pictures 
When I have my eyes wide open 
That's when I truly can’t see anything 
But permanent paintings 
That mold me into a distraction 
From the curves and wrinkles of my natural plain