She paints with her heart, not with her hand,
She expresses herself with every color on her canvas,
Aligned and planned out everything she has ever wanted,
Ready to go paint what she anticipated for so long,
She starts off with a clean white board,
and adds color wherever she goes,
Her smile can represent enough pleasure it gives her,
She sees the beauty of what she has made,

It starts off as a masterpiece, until she makes a mistake,
She wipes it, paints over and tries to make it go away,
She hates herself with each stroke she makes,
She mutters "What ******* I've made"

The color submerge just like water could,
The colors intertwine like roses would,
And in the end she knows that it all should have ended this way,
She says to herself *"It just another one of those days"