Your life’s a picture
A pastel painting; a fixture
On an empty wall
Next to nothing at all.
So picturesque it’s
Perfect in every way
And time won’t mar you
Won’t burn and scar you
Just leave you hanging alone.

An empty museum
With just one exhibit
You have it all
To roam the halls
Late at night when you’re alone.
Day breaks; no one ever comes
Why would they?
What do you have to say?

A happy painting has no appeal
A happy painting isn’t real.

Time is leaving you behind as
You grow old it’ll just get worse:
It’s been too good
Far too good for the likes of you.
Nowhere to go, to run away to
The paint, as it’s dying it cracks.
Perfection rarely ever lasts
So end it, end it all before you,
Lose control; you’ve peaked
There’s nowhere left to go.

End it, end it all now
You can only go down.