a heap of bile gathers in my throat
as i watch my world go up in smoke
and fail to understand the purpose of regret that's spoke

in my mind i painted the vision
and the brush perfects the image at every stroke
yet reality reminds me the paint must dry
before it can offer any hope

there it is; excuses, here they come
that's me.. always trying to alter the picture when it's done
because the sight isn't what i hoped to see
and here i stand; starting from square one

fear sets in and i feel i just may choke
so i try to erase what it has become

but it's too late; and i can't even cry
this has never happened to me
i'm lost and i'm free
and a part of me has died

tell me, what is it really like?
to see your world go up in smoke?
to create a picture unlike one you've ever seen, to feel that scream in your throat?
to paint a picture you just cannot change no matter how many times it's been erased?
to not give up, not give in but just let life take it's place?

i touch the canvas;
it's rough at the edges,
but it's smooth inside

which tells me i can still attempt a change of heart
even after the paint has dried.