The painting

I drew her with love on canvas so fresh
As if I know her for real
I know this is surreal
That I imagined all this stuff
Yet I am callous enough
To want her in flesh
I love to deck her up
With rouge and mascara
And dress her up in a scanty attire
Without any tiara
Her simple earring twinkles
The moisture trinkles
And glistens her skin
That sparks a fire
From deep within
I can feel the blood rush
In her blush
Her sadness well up  my eyes
As I brush with tears aflood
I hear words  spill
through her silent cries
That has been untold
Her life and her role
As I unfold her veil
Probably against her will
I can feel the ruddy
scratches on her limp body
I try to bring back the glow
That will once again flow
Through her dead skin
As I begin to build the story from her bones
I heard her moans
That impelled me to paint her glory
Her gory past that was snuffed fast
She was not born with a pot of gold
Nor could she wear dresses of pure silk
She use to milk the cows
The girl  couldn't break her vows
That she wouldn't give in to lust
Till she bites the dust
But when she walked on a lonely ground
Men hounded her down
It was a grim battle
She couldnt win
So she chose to be charged by cattle
Rather than men
There was blood on her head
When she was dead
Now she stands before me
With a pot of milk over her head
Dripping with blood instead!
I feel a sudden surge of power within me
And an urge to kill her enemy
At her will
So that  her wounds may heal !!!