3 am
he laid in the shower
quietly allowing every droplet of water
to pour into his open flesh
firmly gripping his weapon of choice,
beginning to carve fairytales into a broken canvas
as if he were a father
telling his son a bed time story

surrounded by a pool of ruby red ink
the artist gradually began to work deeper
almost nearing completion of his project
taking a breath between every stroke
the artist proudly admired his work

i am growing ill
with a bad case
of 'missing you'
and
a high temperature
of 'all the time'.