The poem of madness
I woke up to write
Your smile above the sadness
Just a bit too bright

The painting of flower beds
Getting smashed beneath a reckless shoe
That time you tore to shreds
Everything I thought I knew

The song of a trumpet choir
As if proclaiming a sin
Turns as softly as young fire
To a lullaby followed by a violin

I'm far from the smartest
Beneath your mysterious heart
I may be a natural artist
But you're the natural art

After every time you say to me
It was good to see you
But you know it was more than that.

You’ve also said we have the same eyes
but we don’t see things the same.

If only my hand could craft words to be
the source of us instead of us being the
source for my words.

Using my hands to paint
the reality I want instead
of what I see. Giving life
to us instead of a life being
taken from us.

If you can’t read me
at least you can read
what I create after
you’ve touched me.

Black and white dreams
Less conventional
            it seems
Yet,
         I still believe
That too
    many
colors
Can fade out
        the true meaning
And if
       I dream of death
Then it's *just
                   the beginning

"And now I'm one step closer to being two steps far from you."