The Truth

An old naked man you are.
Epsom's star bearing humbling scars.

An inconvenient reality in which we succumb to willingly or unwillingly in due time.

A cure to a sweet virus which intoxicates it's victims with a servant's smile. 
"Paint your picture."

An old man peering into my soul with crimson webbed eyes,into a soul bare,naked ,real.
looking to show my blind eyes his essence.

I tried so hard to look but my creation was opaque.
Bright seducing colours of my own swatch now smudged with the tears of this old man, "I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to hurt me."

The sweet hand lead me along a road that tickled me...it hurts now.

but I can't stop laughing , not now.