i am a painter
no master by any means
i just hold a brush and a bucket beside me
i lather my brush with colors of the unknown

it’s a choice made moments before
had I planned this, it’d go for millions.
but instead, it’s the aftermath of thought.
it is my conscious,

it is my will to live ,
it is the life I give,
it is my affection for others.
my comfort in others
The love I take the love I love the love I hate.

the love of everything
the love makes the water in my glass cup full
the color is often red
or some shade of it

although it is a spontaneous choice
my instinct knows the pattern
the color of blood,
it’s so hard to see.

yet here I am
putting the brush back in again
to let another drop fall
i hope the time, the color is not red.

there is a road on the ocean
and it goes on further than I can see
a thin strip of pale wood
that cuts the waters in half

i stand upon this endless road
in the middle of an endless ocean

from the moment i saw it's beginnings
stretching out from the sandy shore
i stepped upon its pale worn planks -
there was no hesitation.

                                                              i watched the land grow smaller
                                                                               and stood surrounded
                                                                                by the great grey blue;

                                                                                            blue above and
                                                                                                    blue below
                                                                and a handful of blinking stars.

                                                                                   overhead and under
                                                                          the cloudy waves shifted;
                                                     a gentle kiss of foam upon my ankles.

i sit upon the path of no end
and i will wonder;

i've walked miles upon this road
but i can't go up
or under.

who is to say that there is an end
or a purpose in its presence?
how much longer will my legs carry me-
will I ever find my answer?

my heart sinks into a sea of stars
my mind is lost in the clouds,
but my feet, my feet will always tread
on this wooden road built of the earth.

there is a road
on the surface of the ocean
and that's as far as i can go.

"She was an
unusual dresser.
Every night,
she wore bruises
on her heart,
love on her lips,
pain in her eyes,
and ink on her fingers.
They called her poetry."

(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.