Fantasy World


He draws masterpieces every day in his world,
But no one sees them, for his place is veiled.
His secret art,
The one-color paintings.
He cringes as he brushes the deep crimson colors
On the ivory-white canvas.
Shouts reach his ears and he sees what is real.
The canvas, his skin.
The paintbrush, a knife.
Paint, his blood.
Brought away from his home, he retreats back to his world.
Now he acts things out, with food as a poison.
His fantasy dream is killing him.
But the worst part of it all is that he knows it.

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