He splashes light against the sky,
  broken heart that makes her cry
  remembering yesterday's goodbyes,
  begs her to explain. She just sighs.
  She was a ***** he loved, paste white.
  He splashes light against the night
  making stars that swirl like madness.
  He splatters yellow suns on his sadness
  with crows in skies warning us of doom.
  He cuts his ear off in her white room.
I scratch this poem upon the page
with his blood spilled in red rage.