Paint

Will you be disappointed in me.
When you find a body in the backseat
of the red mirage
with blacked out windows.
The one I park in the garage
of blank two faced shadows.
But that’s too much information
about this two-car car park.
Because it makes me the irritation.
The ugly headed poison dart.
But I want you to like me.

Instead of changing; truly loving.
I’ll brush it with acrylics; you’ll see nothing.
Truth is, I’m hiding from something
inside me.
I’m the painted up celebrity
on TV.
The carved marble headstone
covering the body.