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amanda-stoddardPoems
Every figment of my imagination has become etched into the forefront and it no longer hides in the back of my mind- It is a painting amongst a wall I no longer own every pigment of my thoughts for you has become nothing but a dark shade of black. You are nothing but a dark shade of black. I let you re-paint me into something you'd like- I let you take my hands and wipe them clean as you painted me brand new ones. I can't hold on anymore. You were always a perfectionist- who never really knew what he wanted all you ever knew was it had to be perfect. But I will never be perfect enough. I have been struck by your razor tongue as I take the mirror images to my own wrists thinking I will never be picture perfect again. You were always a perfectionist but I am no Monet- though I am just as beautiful I will never be your work of art. The pigments behind my eyelids will eventually be filled with light again and everything will be turned into the shades of yellow I have desired all along- you will no longer turn me blue and black with the words that leave your red lips I will not be your masterpiece- I am already my own.
0
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
You can't auction off a rarity.
Every figment of my imagination has become etched into the forefront and it no longer hides in the back of my mind- It is a painting amongst a wall I no longer own every pigment of my thoughts for you has become nothing but a dark shade of black. You are nothing but a dark shade of black. I let you re-paint me into something you'd like- I let you take my hands and wipe them clean as you painted me brand new ones. I can't hold on anymore. You were always a perfectionist- who never really knew what he wanted all you ever knew was it had to be perfect. But I will never be perfect enough. I have been struck by your razor tongue as I take the mirror images to my own wrists thinking I will never be picture perfect again. You were always a perfectionist but I am no Monet- though I am just as beautiful I will never be your work of art. The pigments behind my eyelids will eventually be filled with light again and everything will be turned into the shades of yellow I have desired all along- you will no longer turn me blue and black with the words that leave your red lips I will not be your masterpiece- I am already my own.
amanda-stoddard
Written by
amanda-stoddard
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
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