The eyes of the dweller

Soaring past the eyes of the dweller ,
Everything seems to be so hazy, 
Blurred images of a perfectly painted portrait , that lays on an  easel embracing nothing but an empty canvas ,
Trying to wipe off the stains that were left behind from an old & hated masterpiece, for no one had seemed to value it for its uniqueness solely because they couldn’t begin to fathom its intricate beauty.  
Colors so vivid & lines so pristine , a message so deep , filled with nightmares and dreams . 
That’s a good line she’ said after swinging her arm away from the lines that her nose picked up from the table, hiding beneath the palette of white paint, 
using the inspiration that was handed to her by the rush of euphoria 
Only to then self destruct Bc it was all she know how to do once the happiness picked up and flew away , fluttering like a burnt piece of paper in the gray winds surrounded by ashes and a wide space of nothingness , 
Maybe she enjoyed this space Bc it made her feel special , as if she was carrying on an important roll in this downward spiral , 
A space where she felt at ease Bc everything she does was done right, here & all her rights were wrong , but how could she ever tell the difference in a world that was much too hazy, a world were her uneven lines had a purpose ,
Including the particles that escaped the heavy weight of the image she had tried to nervously paint, 
leaving her traces behind every art room she’s ever visited  ,
Through each splatter and spill ,
Unintentionally creating pieces worth praising ,
With a mind so chaotic & clumsy.
She always considered her charms as chores ,
& didn’t treat her work as one of a kind but instead like a house full of whores.
Fondle the paint brush and tease the paper , but once the colors became dried up and dull she’d tear her paper into pieces and tossed it behind like it’s meant nothing more than a one night stand.
Appetite for destruction so now all she draws are guns-n-roses 
Not giving her self enough credit for her trademarks 
So everything blows up again and ashes fill the air once more, 
But she is the only one who can piece that paper whole again after it’s been burnt & crumbled & turn it in a masterpiece,
She makes everything she touches turn to gold Bc she’s programmed herself to believe that everything she touches, dies 
& god damn, she makes death look so beautiful.
She’s got such beautiful vision as she soars beyond the eyes of the dweller. 
It’ is she who dwells. 
& I want to join her in her own living hell.