Not quite Dorian GrayMature

The life I lead,
chosen by me,
and not.
It is not the
age-related flecks
of oil-paint
falling from a
but moreso a gaping hole,
burned through,
or as if the image
has been painted askew
and out of focus.

I've tried erasing,
and painting over,
but nothing will do
Almost five years of work.
Can I fix it?
Do I need a blank canvas?
The thought alone
strikes terror into my heart.
Instantly I reason my way out,
twisting truth to fallacy.
And retreat
to safety,
and ignorance.

The End

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