we started a painting
when we met.
i was the artist,
and you weren't,
but i was okay with that.
you painted carelessly,
and i cleared up all your mistakes.
it was a beautiful portrait,
and i was beyond ecstasy.
but one day,
i guess you became tired.
holding brushes
and painting in blotches and strokes,
you decided to stop,
you quit and left me there.
i watched you walk out of the painting,
i watched you walk out of my life.
so then, very slowly
i grew more tired on my own.
from colors, to monochromatic.
from rainbow to black and white.
our painting turned dull.
one day, i ended it all,
never touching a single brush.
i never finished the painting.
how would i,
when inspiration is gone?
and only you,
were my inspiration.

'we fall in love
till it hurts
or bleeds
or fades in time'

but i've already hurt
i've already bled
and yet
i'm still hopelessly
constantly falling in love
it's been 864 days since we met
and yet
it hasn't fade in time

that day in December
my roughest trip started
i remember how we met
i sat there quiet
you moved closer and said
my name was pretty
you left but promised me
next year again
and i waited for 365 days
but you never showed up

until 3 months later
and you almost forgotten
but i sparked your interest
November was the best,
when you first held my hand
and never had i ever felt so safe

little did i know that was the last month
we'd ever meet
and i would be hanging on for
193 days
on a feeble rope of hope
losing grip of myself
while you slowly forgot
how i felt against your hands

the rope snapped then,
but i knew
i was free,
from the difficult mountain of you
i did hurt and bruise when i fell
but those scars only proved to show
i am standing stronger
ready for the next adventure of life

beware when you fall in love
with an artist
be it a painter, a singer, or poet

for the artist will
paint you
with strokes and hues
in shapes of every kind

sing about you
with heartbreak lyrics
and feelings which rhyme

write about you
with the simplest words
and a secret message she wants to say

beware of the artist,
and her love
one wrong move
and you're an artwork in her display

Softly, softly
we step into your mind
quiet and reverent
in our solemn intent.
- words I wrote for you
- books I have read
- places I have been, both
with and without you
- a drawing of my happiness
- your words, to encompass
my pain
I find all of these
where you reside, and as always,
as you are, so much
more than I will ever understand.
when I step out, pieces of
you, cotton-soft, cling to
everything I touched you with. Though
I would love nothing
more than to have stepped lightly in
and out, to not leave a mark
to not sully the purity
of what was before me, I know
this is not possible. The shreds
will cling to me, and I
will cling to the shreds, because
even though I would rather take
nothing, change nothing, be
as inconsequential as nothing, circumstances
have led me to the great
and terrible beauty
of the honor to carry with me
pieces of you.

i saw you on a balcony smoking a cigarette
between your fingers that extended like
tree roots. i wanted so badly
to just grab you and **** the nicotine right
out of your veins and into mine. maybe one
day you'll be addicted to me.