See a picture a hundred times
On the hundredth try something new hits your eye
Hold your head in your hands
This new perspective is plainly not what you had planned
This is not a memory bank account withdrawal
I’m dreaming vivid imagery with an awful awe
When will that song not explore
The same special feeling that it had before?
When will that face not implore
The same awful feeling anymore?
Oil on canvas freshly painted is an awful sight to see
Even being newly created it drags out long lost memories
Pigment fading from a canvas page
Reflecting all the changes we have made
Figment painting, filaments strained
Falling from the wall but still remains
The colored shades are finite
The lines already drawn
I could never look at them for long
When will that painting comfort me
The way I always knew it used to be?
When will that noise not prefix
Figments i’d prefer did not exist?