While at first he was sweet and charming
coloring and watching movies all night long
his demeanor quickly changed
and his true intention was brought forth
You see, he was an artist
in many different ways
a master of his chosen trade
who could always skirt the blame
He was an artist of color
who practiced every night
adding increasingly complex decorations
on his breathing canvas' skin
He was an artist of manipulation
who used guilt and shame to wet his brush
laying it thick onto a trusting soul
to keep her coming back
He was an artist in his bed
every single night
creative shapes and entry
he always had his own rough play
He was an artist with his words
accenting with degrading names
He would swirl in threats of violence
and reminders of what was still to come
Worst of all, he was an artist of the truth
with his early warning that he was not good
planting the thought of changing a hard heart
in her empathetic soul
he always let her know she was owned
subjected to the life he presented
deserved punishment if she strayed from the expected
with an abrasive brush of his trade
This artist filled his canvas
with darkened gothic hues
and sold his finished, broken project
to the next artist in his queue
