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.