My Kind of Art

My Kind of Art

I fell in-love,
—he's a work of art,
albeit society thinks otherwise.
—he have beautiful scars.
He smokes cannabis
—it doesn't define who he really is.
He smokes cigarettes
—doesn't mean he have bullets.
In this world full of hypocrite,
—he wears his heart on his sleeve.
He's a work of art
—he doesn't know it.
Society thinks he's a monster
—he believes it.
I fell in-love with his scars,
—he hates it.
I wish I'm a cannabis.
—so I could touch his lips.
Willing to be a cigarette,
—burn to ashes and face death
I fell in-love despite his scars,
—for me he's a work of art.