Picture Perfect Pain

He never saw his life as beautiful,
As beauty herself had always wept at his feet.
Time and time again, decorating his tragedies on paper.
Gloom is etched into his heart,
with his very own pen.

Eyes on the wall, but mind in the skies
The whole world could spin away, without words
To keep him grounded.

Memory will be kept in a lighted room,
visible but locked away.
This writer dreams of a healing hour,
yet keeps his heart exposed in the rain.

A stranger may come, to pick up the pieces
but reading tears is not the same as drying them.
Flawless is only possible to unknowing eyes,
And these eyes skim across a painting of letters and pain.
Something that started so broken and jaded
Now Picture Perfect.
But only from afar.