i am a painter
no master by any means
i just hold a brush and a bucket beside me
i lather my brush with colors of the unknown

it’s a choice made moments before
had I planned this, it’d go for millions.
but instead, it’s the aftermath of thought.
it is my conscious,

it is my will to live ,
it is the life I give,
it is my affection for others.
my comfort in others
The love I take the love I love the love I hate.

the love of everything
the love makes the water in my glass cup full
the color is often red
or some shade of it

although it is a spontaneous choice
my instinct knows the pattern
the color of blood,
it’s so hard to see.

yet here I am
putting the brush back in again
to let another drop fall
i hope the time, the color is not red.