Perfect is the Paint.

Perfect beings are rarely so.

But its so easy to close your eyes

and listen to the music

of a world untouched by reason.

My rhymes are desperate, yet passive

I urge the subject to pursue a dream

the brilliant portrait of a lover

rather then the wonderful tragic truth.

For after all, truth is beauty

and ignorance is bliss

So, decide that your truth is ignorance

and live in glorious ecstasy.

Why love a person that is flawed

just as your poor self is,

who will only lead to the realization

that you must give up yourself to love.

Though it is the most blessed form

of self-mutilation within the universe

It will only lead to more of us

and less of you.

And pardon my less then logical conclusion,

but I feel it must be said

A being as dynamic and intrinsic as yourself

should never have to compromise.

Hoist up your paintbrush,

and smear your love across your bed.

A hopeless romantic deserves, at very least,

the very best painter portraying them.