The Artist's Gallery

The canvas is as smooth as skin
The paint a dark, blood red
Each fiber on every paintbrush
As if plucked from someone's head

Each tiny little detail
Drawn with a delicate hand
Each magnificent painting
Placed on a bone-white stand

The Artist's amazing Gallery
Is a bright and welcoming place
But there is something unnerving
About the look on the Artist's face

Hunger is the look he gives
Behind those dark, cold eyes
Though the friendly smile on his crooked lips
Could fool those passersby

His smile grows even wider
When his eyes lock on mine
He starts walking my way
A chill runs up my spine

"Welcome!" he says with open arms
Inviting me to look around
"I hope you enjoy The Gallery."
My heart begins to pound

"Don't worry, my dear!" he smiles
My hands grow cold with sweat
The Artist whispers in my ear
"You'll be my greatest masterpiece yet."