She was an art,
but she wasn't the type
you'd find in museums
or the type that would
make you feel profound things
in your chest.

She was an art
tucked in hidden pockets
of a faded yellow dress.
She was an art,

slowly sketching herself
out of existence.

drowning in a careless sea of norms.
coming up for air, barely making it to the top to cease the pain.
drinking from the dead ****** hands of Christ, as i put my hand over my heart asking him to rescue me.

This time, I've rattled his chains, Devil dances in circles around my trouble brain.
tiptoeing at night never to wake the demons that follow me.

laying almost paralyzed I can sense the presents of a being not meant to stand before me.

slowly I'm losing my breath...
the water is coating my lungs now, as I rest my weary eyes...

I love it when she’s blue,
I love it when she’s gold,
I love it when she’s silver,
I love it when she’s cold,
I love it when she’s quiet,
I love it when she’s bold,
I love it when she’s calm,
I love it when she folds
I love her for her secrets,
I love her for her songs,
I love her for her rights,
I love her for her wrongs,
I love it when she moves me,
When she pulls me,
When she soothes me,
I love it when she’s red,
I love it when she’s gray,
I love it when she’s mine,
I love it when she strays,
I love her for her warmth,
I love her for her stare,
I love her for her depths,
I love her for her care.