He perished in peril,
with great symphony they say.

screaming goodbye,
to his last memory of day.

He painted all day long,
his wrist became the canvas.

Her lies were his demise,
not a very good actress.

I wonder if he knew,
that i wasn't acting.

I should have told him,
but his end came sadly.


[I'm not much for rhyming poetry and the end isn't very well @ all.]
critiques/comments much appreiciated