you were the first brushstrokes
in the backdrop of my painting
the tangling colors,
colliding like comets
against an inky black sky
every day, with your knife you
peeled away the paint
leaving shadows
in the shape of you
i did not notice
until you were too far gone
the blackness
where your vividness had once been
i felt it
at the core of my being
you can pretend
you were never here
you can pretend
love and hate are miles apart
but i still hold the scraps of that painting
the canvas with
your footprints and
your tire marks and
the smears from your fingers
and i still feel you
at the tips of my fingers