born heavy.

well-cut keratin,

pure smooth satin.

wipe on the depth,

your pain that is kept,

is sticky.

paint in the shading,

blue hands are fading,

it's sneaky.

smells like a drug,

a grave that's been dug,

it's messy.

then the brush lifts,

the smoke slowly rifts,

into your imagery.

all is hell,

fairly swell,

when born heavy.