Wilde, Oscar

The picture of Dorian Gray

Tired of the longing
And tortured by the temptation
The idea of us
Nailed to my wall
Just like the Picture of Dorian Gray

I stare at the artwork
I bathe in its dust, it’s misery
Paint crumbles onto my face
I refuse to wipe it away
I scribble down in cursive letters
“I love you, and it’s killing me”

It seems that I am out of time
The clock has sadly now struck twelve
My stomach growls in hunger and shame
I fold up the paper gently
And hide it behind the frame

Mrs. Gray

I am conflicted
The paint of her portrait is slowly crumbling
Changing color
Unveiling its corners and alleys
Like the word of a poet –
Thought it would stay forever
Torturing me, mocking me
Lingering in the back of my chest
Is it finally crumbling?
Will I finally be free of you Mrs. Gray?

Death
I often find myself thinking
Of all the places
I could be exploring
But he puts on one of his faces
And reminds me that he owns me

He takes me by the hand
Gets on his knees
And begs me to join him
Not like you would do
if you’re desperate
But like a soulmate
Gets on one knee
And asks
For eternity