III

Why do I feel him coming?

Why do my nerves tense

When he stands one step closer

Scanning crowds, interrogating witnesses

Anxious not to lose

Something he worked so hard on

Not the love;

The art.

I'm a painting without an origin

My body hung for display

My marks sparking awe for an audience

This dark world finding a dire need for more

Fascinated by a lifeless creature

Twitching in place

A test for something different

And a corrupted beauty

Within the drops of blood

Blended with feathers