Returning to the portrait

 There taking advantage of time
Long hair tells a story

Avoid telling, I walk in weird
You have sought protection

Magnificient chimera you share 
I the listener the observer, am strange
You feel like you are selling yourself
Juggling your energetic balls of optimism

Juxtapose of you and your stability
pretending everything is perfect
Sitting before the gauche artist
Who cannot capture your likeness

For there is no sincerity
The world is not a sale
Even as it advertises to yopu
Living is not a recipe

You cannot cook yourself to freedom
You wander behind the white rose doubting
You wander behind the red one flaunting false confidence
I impose on your  views and you blush midfantasy

The portrait in spontaneous combustion
Feel that heat reflecting as the rest of the room catches
See me holding the matches
See me, just a bucket of napalm?