It’s such a fine line between art and vandalism.
When you bombed every wall of my soul
– ‘You and I, babe, we’ll last forever’ –
I carried your murals within me,
Ignorant of their power.
Never mind forever, we didn’t last a year.
But you sprayed your tags in indelible ink
And no other guy has found a way to buff them.
They keep burning within me.
At night, when I can’t sleep,
I revisit your words and marvel at their beauty.
How real they seem
When you never ever meant them.
I should have seen you’re quite the con artist.
Be honest: Have I stretched the graffiti metaphor too far?