It's not beautiful

It's not beautiful he said regretfully
Don't get this guy wrong, he said it respectfully
But it was the tone of a man, who wished very strong
For a piece of insight that would prove his instinct wrong

But there it was, stark, plain, and true.
A piece of art his friend had worked on for six months through.
The friend had toiled, become nigh on a recluse
They'd made their soul a point of abuse
They'd clearly poured out the blood, their sweat, their heart
For what seemed a very unappealing piece of art.

In fact, it scares me he added with bravery
Knowing the friend had worked through slavery
Not getting funds, or money, or anything at all
Save for this monstrosity, stood 8 feet tall

It pained him, but he had to be honest
And slight lie the friend would detect and admonish
And he owed it to this friend of old
Who deserved to know, deserved to be told
This statue was scary, it would surely haunt many dreams
Followed by waking, to cold sweat and screams.

..

..

I know the friend said with a wry smile
Who had, after all, been working on it all the while
And, bizarrely, he seemed pleased with the man.
Scary is how I had it planned.

Art isn't always nice, but it hits home hard
Like the shocking prediction of a tarot card
I've poured out all the things in life I find petrifying
And now - don't you feel alive? Isn't it electrifying?
For months I have toiled, and now it's done
This art changes you, makes you become someone

He was right, though the man wished desperately the reverse
This friend had found art in the utterly perverse
He nodded in agreement, and wished his friend well
Trying to ignore the art formed in hell