An empty canvas,
drifting from place to place,
Artists come and artists go,
and no one really paints.

once in a while there's a simple stroke,
a brush against the white, a draft that's never done,
Painters come and Painters go,
but no one empties their paint.

a splatter of color, left unfinished,
a jar of water, muddied by mistakes and paint,
People come and People go,
But the Canvas is never finished.

one artists backdrop was another's mess,
a painters tree becomes another's spine,
a sum of all that came before,
alone in the dark.

I always loved the cold,
the way it made us wrap together in a blanket,
the feeling of warmth against the darkness of night.

I always loved the Night,
A place for me to hide my shame from the light,
a loneliness that I craved more than life.

I never liked my life,
but the warmth you provided made it alright,
the sun and the moon,
sitting in the skies,
against the world,
thinking they'd be fine.

I’d always wanted to go to College,
In another life I did.

I spent my time rotting with my brothers,
Four people bound by a schedule,
Held by a cradle of sheet music and dirt.

We’d dance to the music we lived for,
Sing of the people we dreamed of being,
Wrapped in smoke and promises of gold.

Our goals began to change,
A collage of broken people,
Forced together by Pain and Noise.

You left years ago,
The four musketeers in the wind,
Devoid of anything but hope.

Now I'm alone again,
Rotting in my room
I’d always wanted to go to College,
And maybe once I did.