• Textured wings
    Carry the dead
    Which stare down
    From your walls.
    You trapped them here,
    Your Beloveds.
    Here, this frame,
    The fantasy ends.

    Dark objects
    Spill to the floor.
    She is an angel
    Shadowed by your
    Dark light.
    Whisper the painted lies.
    Your smile
    You fashioned
    From the same.

    Rapunzel is locked
    In a tower
    As you create
    Her future.
    Plotting, Thievery, Killing.
    After the joyful moment,
    Trapped in the chamber
    Is she with you.

    Pure water,
    How it washes away
    The deceiving paint.
    Now use it to paint
    Those scars
    Upon her cheeks,
    Those rosy cheeks
    You so love to paint.

    Terrorize
    The tender heart.
    Give her the wings
    You created for her.
    You know they're faulty
    Just like your vows.

    After the exhibit
    What's left to present?
    Your audience has dispersed.
    Do as you wish.
    There's no one
    To see
    Your true hues.
    While the one
    With useless wings
    Calls for the artist
    She once loved.

    One strike of the brush,
    Then another.
    A strike, not a stroke.
    No, you are not kind,
    You wretched deceiver.
    But devotedly she remains
    While you tear the canvas.
    She's crying,
    Begging you
    To stop the ruin.

    Her body
    Is ravaged
    By the one
    Who once crafted joy
    Into the bleak landscapes.

    You were her artist,
    You were her hero,
    You were her lover,
    And the tragic end.

    Once you've captured
    The likeness
    Of her beautiful form,
    You have no need of her,
    No need to endure
    Those pitiful sobs.
    The last stroke is dry,
    The last passion faded,
    And unknown to her,
    She has shed
    Her last tear.

    You trade your tools.
    It's a blade for a brush,
    And in sleep
    Is where she meets her end,
    Trapped forever
    In the nightmares
    You forced upon her.

    A startled gasp
    And you see her eyes
    One last time
    As they flutter open
    For one brief moment.
    It's the opening
    Of the butterfly's wings
    And its untimely death.

    You are shaken with remorse,
    For what have you done?
    You've killed the angel.
    She was all you'd hoped for.
    Now even that,
    You've stolen from yourself.

    You paint the landscape
    She once loved
    In grieving and hopes
    Of unmerited atonement,
    Hoping that her soul
    Will frolic there
    Among the red hills
    Instead of in the nightmares
    You banished her to.

    In the end
    You do not
    Stow away her portrait
    With that of the other maidens
    In the cold,
    In the dark,
    In the desolate tower
    You once locked her in.

    You place her portrait
    Which smiles
    Of her love for you
    Over the fireplace,
    Hoping that it might
    Provide for her the warmth
    Which you denied her
    During her life.

    And now,
    For your deeds
    Shall you forever weep.
    Reap the sorrow
    Of the many deaths
    Sown by your hand
    Whilst the angel
    Gazes upon
    A wasting form
    Of her lover and artist,
    Killed by his own trade.