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I hung my ex lovers up on my wall like art,
I keep their bodies as mementos of mistakes I’ve made.
Like Gogh, I give an ear to future lovers,
But the ear isn’t mine. It’s from my portfolio-
My arrangement of masterpieces, an array of red,
Agony is a beautiful treasure, isn’t it?
I loan body parts to future endeavors,
Hoping one day my love will be enough.
But it won’t. I know it won’t.
I cannot Frankenstein perfection, cannot make my own future,
Cannot stitch together the arms that hold me in the night.
My ex lovers cry in the dark- I hear them.
I see them begging for mercy at my hand-
I merely wanted more, I wanted love,
I wanted something that was enough but
Will this story end the same?
Will I create something so beautiful and insecure,
That it will kill me?
Will this monster of love take me apart and rebuild me?
Will I be nailed up next to the rest of the rotting corpses?
Will karma serve me justice?
Is beauty and desire and art worth the pain of myself and others?
I hung my ex lovers on my wall like art.
They have been crucified for my sins.
I kneel underneath their blue and purple feet,
Praying for a salvation that rings in my head like a tic,
An obsessive, compulsive, nauseating nuance.
“Love your neighbor as thyself” you told me-
And I have loved them like I have loved myself.
Massacred, bloodied, punished. Red is the color of love.
I have loved them like I have loved myself.
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"wall art" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 27 Sep. 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/117056/wall-art>.