Tender soft skin, once thought to be stone
Once separate layers now split, uneven
Exposing it's red underneath a dark canvas
A razor edge brush guides this painting
The peace that was once dead- springs to life, unwilling
Hoping once more that this form will contain it

A temporary hold; a soulless container
The colors are dull and the mind is hazy
Exposed a red brush upon the dark canvas
The paint is too thin, it lacks the luster
Searching for more, brush turned inward
Gushing from the source for a scarlet hued angle

Fading in and out, a masterpiece undone
Marred with a vision that remains so tranquil and clear
Exposing bits of red to the darkest corners of the canvas
It reaches outward to escape the ending
A final signature, caught weak of final breath
A nightmare come true without the masterpiece completed

This story once told hangs lost on these walls
Fading colors of a past still remembered today
Exposed to reds hue in the dark canvas of this mind
The paint long worn thin and the canvas is tattered
But it recreates itself as this peace will never last
A dead portrait of myself that will never be finished