He was a flesh embodiment
Of Rothko's art
He wasn't physically pretty
Nor ugly
But he needed to be looked at
Within his depths
What's going on his mind
He needed to be understood
He thirsted for someone
Who was willing to take time,
Dig into his soul
And do what he couldn't do
Which was to overcome his demons
Perhaps this is the reason
Why I always get my heart broken:
I believe there is
A seeping light of hope
Beneath the darkness of the souls
Of men like him
And this is what kept me going
He was a masterpiece
Violating every rule in an art guide book
He had apparent red flags
But I guess here I go again
Ignoring them
