If Dying is an Art?

If dying is an art
It would be but a daub of tactless paint
Splashed across a mundane canvas
Red, black and white
Nothing that screams rainbows or carousel
Images of limbs dangling loosely
Darkening clouds over vast abysses of despair
A world that drops at the blink of an eye
Where forever young stays lyrical
And inconsistency overrules promises
Where nothing is the only thing that fills you up

If dying is an art
I would give the world for you to come alive
For I have seen love withers
From crossing rainbows into streams of gutters
For I have scorned these feelings
As if I’d consumed oceans
Drowning the wrenching pain
Running away, life in my palms
Sadness overflowing through the gaps of my fingers
But retrieving might just seems all too vain of a cause

If dying is and art
That it’s one that requires utmost mastery
Every drop of blood but a colour palette
Every popping vein but just a stroke of your mighty brush
I will waver, I will fall
For an art is beautiful
And nothing speaks of more beauty than me lying

Still beside your feet