The layer of chafed skin upon unopened veins
Wrinkled with the movement of its appendages,
And its seeming imperfections created a sense of
Flawlessness as his unknown eyes marveled at
his creation.
A beating pulse. Initiated only with the addition of
a heart. Thrummed in continuous rhythm.
He said, “I made you beautiful.”
But there was no reply back except for a small grunt
Perhaps voiced only by lurking doubts and
Minor insecurities.
But despite the creator’s desire for perfection,
The creation soon became a threat to those it
Discovered, unaware of the macabre, grotesque
Images, what one could almost call art, of death
That it created.
While its creator ignored the cries for help
And the gory paintings consisting only of Red,
The monster, as that was what the creation became known as,
Sought out its creator in order to
Paint his one final
Masterpiece.