Perhaps I so like the idea of an art thief
Because the idea of needing something so bad
Needing something so beautiful so bad
That you're willing to put your freedom
On the line, that is beautiful
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Perhaps that is why artists are drawn to me
I am a blank canvas and they wield razors
Shaving my skin until the veins weep,
Until my flesh lays on the floor like abandoned strands of hair.
The fact that red is their only available paint
Does not bother them.
Why should it?
It's exciting, the numerous ways in which red can mean something
So many that they meld into one
Until I am nothing but red.
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Perhaps this is why criminals are drawn to me
Drenched in red, there is no more room
For another stroke of something new
I am complete in my utter ruin
Prepared for the art thief to take me home.