April 2020
An inky black mess
That one can not erase
It stays and it spreads
Words and actions
All of which are documented
In a past you may try to bury
A stain on your perfect painting
One that you try to hide behind
As your brush strokes an empty canvas
It appears and starts to grow
With every brush stroke
It haunts you to the end
Until your out of room
You reach behind you to take another
It’s then you realize
There is no more for you to hide behind
As you panic you look back
And you notice the inky black mess
Your perfect paintings are ruined
And so is your reputation
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