Oh good ole Picasso, how could you go so low? To beat a woman one night lasts only a while concerning the damage, depending on how much absinthe you drank. That was just the beginning. But then you clasped that brush and painted their faces; the once soft beautiful symmetry molded into disarray with your own hands. Those rough hands captured their pain and disfigurement for eternity, creating paintings that are adored and praised, and will be for the rest of history. A poets words can be buried among pages, but bright colors can never be tuned out of the mind of the world, never.