Portrait of the Portrait !


Rousseau, waked up in the late of night,
sweating with fear of his long lost pride,
dear shadow, let go of my beloved plight;

romanticism; thee escape this watch tower
get lost from here, come back after shower,
your presence smells of foul guilt of ugly power,

"she said, nobility is a rare-most fortune,
he exclaimed, God made me and broke the mold,
he stabbed her , lamented her body with revolt,
die, die die, die you bitch, you worth the allegations,

Picasso, rest his brush, colors, its a sensation !




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