I once painted a picture of a horse.
It was simple, just of the head.
The skin was orange, the mane blue.
His eyes a bright brilliant green.
Around him, swirls of red and black.
He wasn't the most beautiful horse,
Hell, he was the worst I'd ever drawn.
But, he was mine.
I was proud of him.
And decided to share him.
But, once I did, I realized the mistake I had made.
People thought he meant more than to just be my horse.
They thought there had to be a reason behind every little thing I drew.
He became scared from being looked at like he belonged under a microscope.
~ I don't blame him ~
He burned from all the eyes that watched him.
I just sat and let my horse melt away like a film in a projector.
There's no way to create him the way he was before.
That was the last time I shared my art.
I drew a new horse the next day,
But kept him hidden from prying eyes.
Precious things in this world don't last.
Why can't a painting of a horse,
Just be a painting of a horse?
Why must people complicate things?
