You paint a perfect picture.

Full of firey reds
and deepest blue.
A sprinkle of gold
adds the final touch
to this masterpiece of 'you.'

But I've learned my lessons well.
Between the brush strokes,
the color choices,
the vibrant subject,
and opinionated voices.

A deeper inspection finds
a glaring exception.
The missing shadows
and darkened hues.
A blackened soul conveniently
hidden from view.

Deliberate?
Most likely.

Deceit is your brush,
vivid lies fill your pallete.
A habit common among
those whos veneer
is as thin as your canvas.

~~~

she watches the boy
with green eyes
nursing his drink
sadness
meeting peace
when he looks up

a cigarette smoldering
between his *******
and the one he uses
when he wants to say
he's okay

god
he slurs

and you're not sure
and he's not sure
if he's talking to his reflection
in the mirror
behind you
or if he's
trying to reach an empty
grey sky

pour him
some more
burning gold
steady his hand
when he raises
the glass
with the imprint
of his silent lips
and smile
without
expecting him to give you one

god
he says again
i'm ******

and you deduce
that he must
be talking to the sky
beyond this ceiling
weighed down
with mood lighting
capturing the shadows
of lovers
becoming friends
and friends becoming lovers

aren't we all?

he smiles
finally
sardonically
wisely
he's given in
to the ignorance
he supposes
you have

let's go home.

the
emptiness
in his weighted touch
at the small of your back
shatters
like the glass
that falls
from his hand